On a beach in Cuba
by Sheherazade's Fable
Summary: With world leaders still trying to figure out what to do in the wake of Apocalypse's attack, the one government witness, Moira MacTaggert, finds herself in high demand. But things are already plenty difficult for her after finding the long-lost love of her life when she didn't even know he existed. Charles/Moira. Spoilers for X-Men: Apocalypse.
1. Chapter 1

Getting out of Cairo had been problematic. Without the craft that they had flown in, and Kurt almost completely depleted, it had been a matter of getting somewhere close to relax and discussing what to do the following morning.

When Moira mentioned she had a safe house in a nearby town, he'd agreed immediately. It had taken a few trips for Kurt, and he could tell that the young man was exhausted by the time they arrived. He'd only had time to see the couch before he dropped into it.

They'd decided to leave him be, although Charles had spotted Raven placing a blanket over him later. It was a question for another time, but one he knew would have to be asked. Just like he'd have to have a conversation with Jean on what she wanted to do with her newly-tapped powers.

Everyone had divided up into different rooms, the dining room, kitchen, office space and even the roof being converted into temporary sleeping quarters. Storm, as the young girl insisted on being called, had immediately gone up to the roof. He imagined she wanted to be alone.

Erik had taken a similar tactic, only with a tent in the small backyard. Moira had radioed in that he'd helped them, but they were still awaiting word on that. For now, it was best to be cautious, and his friend wasn't going out without covering his face.

He closed his eyes. Yes, he would have to talk to them all soon about what they wanted to do. He'd like to keep them all together if he could, but that might not be an option. He was walking on uneven ground with his friend, Raven, and Storm, but it was treacherous terrain he'd trod before, with varying degrees of success.

Charles ran a hand over his now-bald head. That would take some getting used to. He shifted in the bed, uncomfortable for a minute. They'd all agreed, despite his protests, that he should get the only bedroom. Apparently nearly having your body taken over by an ancient Egyptian mutant warranted some sort of special treatment in their eyes.

Folding his hands on his chest, he watched the fan make its slow circuit of the ceiling. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to get some level of calm going. His mind still had small prickles running through it after acting as the battleground for a three-way psychic war.

The door opened and Moira walked in, looking exhausted. Immediately Charles tried to straighten himself, to look a bit more relaxed and nonchalant. It hadn't been fast enough, judging by the quirk of her eyebrows.

"Any news?" he asked.

"They want a full briefing as soon as possible," she said, closing the door behind her, "But even they seemed to understand they'd have to wait for some more details."

"And why make them wait?" Charles asked.

"To start with, the line isn't secure enough for this, I've got a house full of people, some of whom are international terrorists, and because I need to call Levine," said Moira.

The first two made sense, but he didn't understand the third. She must have seen his confusion, because she sighed.

"Ask him if he could keep Kevin another night," she explained.

Charles paused and Moira sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Kevin," he said, "Your son?"

She nodded. Charles sought the right words. He'd been so frightened when he'd seen that picture on her desk, frightened it meant that he'd lost his chance forever. When she'd admitted to being divorced he'd felt a sense of great relief, followed only by a prickle of regret that the boy wasn't his.

"Levine's Kevin's godfather," Moira said, "He's always been a good babysitter for him ever since he retired a few years ago. They get on pretty well."

Silence descended. His fingers begin to tap his chest of their own accord. Nervously, he tried to still their motion, but he could feel them continue to tap away, each movement only a little slower than his own heartbeat.

"I'm still kind of mad at you for what you did you know," Moira said.

He looked up, mustering the most charming smile he could when his throat felt like sandpaper.

"I'm still very sorry," he said.

She smiled and looked down. He reached out tentatively and took her hand. Moira didn't pull away, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks for that. He'd tried to give her as much of his own memories of that time as he could, his fears for her, and his desperate gamble.

He'd hoped it would be enough.

"You could've asked me," she said, "Reasoned with me. After seeing your thought process, I might have agreed."

Charles laughed.

"Moira, I'd just lost everything," he said, "I was...I was so scared something would happen to you."

"So you left me," said Moira, "For years and years."

He ran his thumb against the back of her hand.

"Things kept getting in the way," he said, "But I'm sorry for that too. I just want…I want you to…I want us to…"

Fumbling for words, as he always seemed to do around her now, he latched onto the first ones that made any sort of sense.

"I'd like you to give me another chance, if you can," he said.

He saw her swallow, his eyes following the contraction of muscles all the way down her throat. The seconds stretched, seemingly turning into hours. Charles's heart thudded in his ears, and he wanted to say something, anything, just to break the silence, to know the world was still turning.

"Today's a day for second chances, I think."

His breath caught in his throat as she lifted his hand and kissed the back of it. Swallowing back tears, he squeezed her hand, relieved when she squeezed it back. Tension from the day drained away and, somehow, he felt more optimistic than he had for the last half hour.

Moira leaned over and kissed the top of his head. For the first time that day he felt glad he was bald. This way he could feel her lips on his skin instead of his hair.

"I need to get going," she murmured, "I still need to figure out where I'm going to sleep in all this."

"You could stay here."

She raised her eyebrows, and Charles found himself fumbling for words again.

"I mean, of course, if you're comfortable," he said, "The bed's big enough for two, and well, I mean, it's yours to start with and, well, I wouldn't mind you here. It would be great actually, but not that way, I mean-"

Her lips touched his and, for a moment, it was twenty years ago, back on the lawn. He could feel the sunshine on his skin, the softness of hers, and the same love, passion and desperation that had driven him to force her out of his life.

But this kiss, this one didn't have to end. He didn't have to remove her memories, wouldn't have to say goodbye at the end. It was a heady, intoxicating feeling.

Almost giddy, he deepened the kiss, felt her respond. His heart leapt, hammering against his chest so hard he knew she could feel it thudding up against her ribs. But she didn't push him away, only leaving his lips for small sips of air before returning.

The years seemed to melt away, and once again he was in his twenties, knowing that the most amazing woman he'd ever met cared for him too. One of her hands threaded through his hair, and his moved to the side of her neck.

His fingers found the collar of her blouse, and he slipped them under it, only wanting to tease her collarbone, to move the fabric to the side so he could kiss her neck. But he felt something rough under his fingers, rough and whorled and, for a minute, he stopped.

Moira stiffened and began pulling away, not looking at him. She hadn't moved out of his reach, but her teeth began to worry her lip. Dread growing in his stomach, he gently pushed back the fabric slightly, just enough to expose what his fingers had felt. She didn't stop him.

A jagged scar met his eyes, one that traveled further down beyond his sight. He knew it hadn't been there all those years ago, not when she'd worn scoop-necked dresses, sweetheart blouses.

And he knew what type of wound it was. He'd seen Alex come back from Vietnam with knife wounds, seen what happened to some of his X-men. Something bubbled deep inside him, his vision blurring like the wound.

Before he knew it, a question had left him.

"Who?" he asked.

It was more of a snarl really, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Moira stopped worrying her lip, and, for the first time, her eyes met his.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

The answer scared him, more than he'd like to admit. If she'd simply said it happened on a mission, then he would have accepted it. If she'd have said a car crash, then it wouldn't have been alright, but at least he'd have understood.

But this, this was different.

"Moira," he said quietly.

She began to move away, but he reached out and grasped her wrist. She looked at him, and Charles swallowed.

"I just…I want to know," he said, "I won't force you, I don't have any right, but, Moira…"

He brought her fingers to her lips and kissed them. It was so difficult to find the words as to why he wanted to know this, why he thought he could push her when he'd already pushed his luck so much.

"I just…I hate…I can't…" he said.

Charles swallowed.

"I don't like seeing you hurt," he said, "And after everything I did…"

She tightened her grip on his hand. He gave a weak smile, but didn't say anything. His words were too mixed up.

"It was my ex-husband," she said at last.

"What?"

She snorted.

"Right after the first restraining order went through," Moira said, "I shouldn't have thought a piece of paper would've been enough to stop him."

He stared at her, his breaths growing deeper inside his chest.

"Kevin, my son, was off at daycare," Moira said, "Joe came over, started screaming, smashed a plate, picked up a piece…"

Her voice became a little softer, but she kept speaking.

"I found something, a book I think, to hit him on the head with. I got upstairs, lock the door, called 911, stemmed the bleeding," she said, "You can bet my divorce papers got expedited after that."

He stared at her, knowing there was more to the story, more pain she wasn't talking about, was struggling with. Charles didn't know what to say: his own anger was boiling over. For years he'd pined for her, never believing himself good enough, or that there wasn't time, letting other things get in the way. All the while, she had gone through that.

Breathing in, he exhaled the most obvious symptoms, saving the rest for later. If there was one thing Charles was good at, it was storing his emotions away. Hardly healthy, but useful in a pinch.

Tenderly, he reached up with his free hand and caressed her face.

"You deserved more," he said.

She gave a wan smile, but he held eye contact.

"I mean it," he said, "I know that…"

He swallowed.

"I know that there's a lot I can't give you," he said, "But everything that I can, it's yours."

She leaned down and kissed him, once on the forehead, and once near his ear, lingering on the still-healing cut he'd received there only hours before.

"I think," she murmured, "That you've given me quite enough for one day."

Moira pulled away and smiled, fully laying herself down next to him. Every nerve ending sparked at the contact. It had been so long since he'd shared such intimate touches with anyone. But, with her, it had always been different.

And he blessed that difference.

"Just, do me a favor," she said, "Don't make me forget this in the morning."

Her tone was light, teasing. He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

"I will never take anything you aren't willing to give," he said, "Not again."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** And I'm back everyone! It's been a long time since I wrote, but I saw X-men: Apocalypse this past Saturday and it blew my mind. And all that Charles/Moira love? This movie had everything!_

 _I've also received a few inquiries this month, asking me if I was going to write a fic. For those of you who wanted another story, thanks for giving me that much-needed nudge. You guys are the best!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Please understand Ms. MacTaggert: it's not that your son is entirely unsociable. He answers questions in class, and is calm and polite. He's as sharp as a knife, and always receives good grades. Kevin is one of my fastest students, and he had a genuine love for learning._

 _That being said, I regret to inform you that he tends to sequester himself at recess. He struggles in group sports and seems to shy away from others. A few weeks ago, I believe a few boys hurt him, but he denied that anything happened and wouldn't even tell me who he'd been with._

 _I'm also told that he's also shown a great reluctance to participate in group sports. Kevin is, admittedly, small for his age and doesn't have the same fitness standards as others, but that is no reason not to try. Have you considered enrolling him in a local team, perhaps little league?_

 _He's struggling, and I have serious concerns about him. I think that, without some sort of help, he won't be able to make it through the next year. Academically, he'll be fine but, socially, I believe he'll be far behind in every way._

 _I understand that, as a single parent with a full-time career, things may be a little difficult for you. But I think we should arrange a time where we can all three get together. Kevin will likely benefit from a group discussion. I would like to have his father present as well, but from what I'm told at the office, that might not be possible._

 _Still, I think we should at least try to include him. Many of Kevin's problems may in fact stem from the fact that his father is not allowed a more active presence in his life –_

Kevin stopped reading and put the letter from his teacher back into the envelope. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it next, maybe he could return it, but he knew one thing for certain: his mother was not seeing that letter.

She had, he figured, enough things to deal with without his nosy teacher. His mother wasn't home every night, and he wasn't going to spend the nights he did get to see her showing her stupid letters from his stupid teacher who thought his stupid father had anything to do with anything.

What did he know anyway? There was too much of his father's tone in it, the one that asked Kevin why he didn't punch one of the boys who was mean to him in the face. Kevin had tried to explain he didn't think that he'd wanted to hurt him, which had followed in a catastrophic ten-minute lesson on how to make a fist.

At five years of age, Kevin had refused to learn. It had been a little stupid, maybe he should've pretended and gotten on with it, but Kevin wasn't sure that he wanted to learn how to hurt anyone. When his father had gotten angry and started shouting, his mother had intervened, telling him that the world had changed. It wasn't going to need people who knew how to hurt people more than they needed ones who were smart and cared.

Then his father had hit his mother, and Kevin had become sure that he didn't want to learn how to hit anyone. He didn't want to learn anything that his father knew how to do.

And, thinking back to that day, he decided what to do with the letter. His mother, he knew, wouldn't invite his father back into his life for anything. But the teacher was, as he knew, stupid, and he wasn't going to risk something going wrong.

So he tore up the letter and threw it in the trash. It would stay, he knew, at his Uncle Levine's home. When his mother came home he could tell her things were fine at school. Yes, that would be better for everyone. Vaguely he thought that, maybe, if he worked very hard, he could skip the rest of the school year and get moved from the third grade to the fourth. His next teacher might be stupid too, but certainly not the same kind of stupid.

He slung his backpack down on the ground near the bed in the guest bedroom and walked downstairs. Uncle Levine was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. He'd been reading them obsessively since Kevin arrived, as well as watching the TV.

He'd known that something was going on, something bad. It was a little difficult when all he was allowed to see was the TV over his uncle's shoulder when he thought he was in bed. But Kevin watched and listened, curiously, feeling detached as he watched odd, scattered reports.

More than once he'd thought of his mother. She had an important CIA job she was proud of. Was she not at the house because she was dealing with this? It had to do with mutants after all, and she knew a lot about mutants. Yes, that made sense, or at least as much sense as anything did when he tried to piece together what exactly her job entailed.

But, as he'd seen more of the reports, peering down through slats on the staircase as the newscasters predicted death and uncertainty, he began to feel uncertain as well. Was his mother safe? Was he safe? Surely he was, or she'd have been there. His mother wouldn't have left him if he'd been in danger.

She'd always been the one to draw his father's attention away from him during those last few months. It was during then that Kevin realized how much he hated his father, hated him to the core of his being. But, even if Kevin wasn't in danger, then she could be. He'd learned that much from his father.

Then, quite suddenly, they'd heard news reports right before Kevin went to bed that things were alright. Kevin had nodded quietly to himself and headed upstairs to go to bed. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about at all.

If things were fine, then his mother would be too.

"Uncle Levine?" he called.

Levine looked up, smiling.

"Hey Kevin," he said, "I was just trying to figure out what to do for dinner. Wanna head down to McDonald's or order a pizza?"

"Pizza," Kevin said.

He finished walking down the last two stairs and pulled out the chair next to Levine. He glanced at the newspaper headline before Levine could whisk it away: MUTANT MENACE RETURNS?

Menace seemed a very strange word. To Kevin, mutants were those people his mother worked with all the time. He knew a little more than that, but also that his mother was an expert on them. Maybe one day, when he was a little older, he'd be able to meet one.

He'd shared the sentiment with his uncle, although Levine looked uncomfortable at the thought.

"So, pepperoni?" asked Levine.

"Pepperoni," Kevin agreed, "You took the leftovers from yesterday into work today."

"Yep, so I officially need something else to eat for lunch tomorrow," Levine said, "I think some more would do me just fine. And don't tell your mother I let you take the leftovers to school."

"She likes to make sandwiches," said Kevin.

Levine cocked his head, but it wasn't a criticism: just a statement of fact. Sandwiches and apples. A juice box or a milk carton. Put a little note in there too, usually letting him know what time she'd be back. He liked those notes.

"Moira made the best sandwich in the department," he said, "She was pretty good with a stove too, but I'd never tell her that, unless I said I didn't think there was anything she couldn't do."

He winked at him.

"Word to the wise with your mother," said Levine, "Don't tell her she can't do anything. Not unless you want her to do it, and do it better than you can."

"She can do everything better than me," Kevin said, "I'm eight."

Levine clamped his shoulder.

"Good man," he said.

His uncle cleared his throat.

"By the way," he said, "Your mom called me right after I dropped you off at school."

Kevin perked up.

"Is she coming back soon?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Levine, "She's got some…job stuff, you know, to figure out first, but she'll be back in three days maximum."

"Three days," Kevin repeated.

"Three days," said Levine, "She'd be here sooner if she could, but, like I said, job stuff. You're used to that right now though, right?"

He wished it was sooner. He wanted to let her know about the most recent book he'd read. She would listen, and talk too, because she had read it too. They could talk about it all dinner, and she could tell him what she was allowed to. That would be good: her stories were a book in and of themselves.

Then again, if his nosy teacher said something about the stupid letter, he could hide it a little longer. He could make that work. Lying was easy, especially when there was an element of truth in it, and when people were stupid. It was why lying to his mother was so hard.

And why, sadly, because he liked Levine, lying to him was pretty easy too.

"Yeah," said Kevin, "No big deal. Just glad it's not longer."

"Good man," Levine said again.

He took his hand off his shoulder.

"Now go, do your homework and wash up," Levine said, "I think you'll be done by the time the delivery man gets here."

"Sure thing," Kevin said.

He hopped off his chair and headed upstairs.

 _Strange kid, but he's a good boy._

Kevin stopped on one of the steps and looked back at Levine. His uncle was finishing his cup of coffee, not looking at him. Feeling a lump in his stomach, Kevin blinked twice and then headed upstairs.

* * *

Levine finished his coffee, wondering if he should ask Kevin about school. He was, and Levine was quite glad about this, smart. He thought about situations, even in a way that was more inquisitive than a boy his age would usually be.

He reached for the pizza menu and began flipping through it. Then again, he would be smart, wouldn't he? Kevin was Moira's son, even if he did have the misfortune of having half his genes donated from Joseph.

He'd been ashamed that he hadn't realized what Joseph was before Moira married him. He hadn't realized it, hadn't warned her, had been completely taken in. He'd stood in as Kevin's godfather, and had hoped that, after all the road blocks Moira had encountered early in her career, she had finally caught a break.

And then she'd told him about the fights, He'd thought it was something they could work out. After all, every married couple fought. Everyone went through tough times. He'd said so to Moira, and she had looked doubtful. He should've known that something was wrong then, but, again, he was a bachelor. What did he know about any of this?

But when Moira had come to him during her lunch break, asking him if he knew a good divorce lawyer, he'd been perplexed. And yet, even though he was just about retired from the CIA, he still had some of his observational skills. He saw the bruise on her jaw that she had barely managed to cover with make-up.

He'd been furious, but had taken the logical route out. Killing Joseph wouldn't help anyone. If it had, Moira might have already done it. So they went along quietly, putting together the divorce, the restraining order, and making damn sure Kevin would go to Moira when everything was said and done.

It was during this process that he'd found out of the infidelity in addition to the abuse. There was a lot to that which made him want to kill Joseph but, again, he had to think about what was good for Moira and for Kevin.

And the night where Joseph had stabbed her had been one of the worst ones of his life. His friend had deserved a break and, instead, she'd gotten her own personal form of hell from a man who had vowed to be with her in sickness and in health, better or for worse.

At least Kevin loved her. That was a bright spot for her, and he knew she loved him fiercely. His friend deserved every bright spot she could possibly get in her life.

With any luck, there would be a few more in the coming years.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're leaving?"

Moira nodded, and she could see Charles's face fall. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. For many years, her career had been everything. She'd struggled after Cuba, after events and people she couldn't remember. It had taken time to rebuild things, and she had overcome the challenge.

But then she'd fallen in love, gotten married. Her marriage had been a terrible, terrible mistake. She doubted that, if she'd known the level of respect and love Charles had had for her, she would have married Joseph. If she'd known what it was like to be truly loved, she would've seen she was being offered a poor substitute.

She hadn't though, but she'd been given an inadvertent gift. Kevin was the light of her life and, until a day or so ago, she'd doubted there'd been room for anyone else. Now though, life had just become quite a bit more complicated.

And she wished, more than anything, that something like work and the fate of the world wasn't going to get involved while things sorted themselves out.

"I wish I had a little more time too, to be perfectly honest," she said, "But the CIA, and most world governments actually, want to know what's going on. I'm an eyewitness, and they know that. If anyone can let them know what went down yesterday, it'll be me. And they want to know, very badly. "

She sat down in front of him, resisting the urge to just grab his hand. They didn't have much time, and they needed to plan first before anything else. They weren't in a position where they could afford to dilly-dally around for much longer.

"So," she said, "I want to get a chance to discuss what needs to be edited out. They got the barest essentials yesterday, but once we add details, that's when things get complicated."

He looked at her in surprise.

"What?" asked Moira, "I think it's important to establish that right now."

"No, I'm not arguing with that," Charles said, "I'm just, well, you're editing."

She smiled ruefully.

"Not the most honest thing, I know," she said, "But we're going to need to talk about what will, and won't, hurt things. There's a future to consider. Children's future. If we'd had a chance to edit on Cuba, well, maybe things could've been different."

He nodded slowly and glanced out the window. She followed his gaze. It looked out on the small backyard where Erik had slept the night before. He was back in the house now, leaving the yard free for anyone who wanted to use it.

Storm was sitting in the middle of the yard, chatting amicably with Scott, Jean and Kurt. Moira saw her extend her arm and, in the palm of her hand, a small ball of electricity appeared before disappearing.

The teens laughed loudly, and Moira saw Storm give a delighted smile.

"How much do you trust your bosses?" he asked.

"More than I did back then," she said, "I think the chiefs of staff are just happy right now they didn't see the world end. Some may be angrier than others, but two of them have mutant children."

"Really?" asked Charles.

"State secret," Moira said, tapping her lips.

He grinned, and then glanced out the window again.

"Storm should be kept out of it," Charles said.

"Agreed," Moira said, "But I felt it advisable to let people know Magneto had helped stop the apocalypse. So how much do you want me to edit on that count? I don't believe anyone saw him helping the other side."

Charles smiled at her.

"I'll admit, it might help him a little to leave a few things out," he said.

She cocked her head. There was something off in his tone. It took a minute to rifle through what she knew about Erik to figure out why that was. When she did, she couldn't help but feel regretful too. They'd never really gotten on, but Charles did care about him.

"But you don't think he'll stay, do you?" she asked.

"No, I don't," Charles said, "He won't…I don't think he's ready. I mean, I'd love it if he stayed but, well, having him on our side yesterday was enough."

She sighed. This one didn't take any time to think about.

"I think I know you better than that," she said.

Charles laughed and turned his head away from the window.

"Moira, I want him to come back to the school he helped inspire," he said, "I want him to help me shape what I know will be turbulent years."

He closed his eyes.

"But I also want his wife and child to be alive again for him," he said, "For now, I'll settle for hope."

This time she did take his hand.

"You do that a lot. You know that, don't you?" she said.

With a smile that made her think of a pub in Oxford on a cold night, he brought her hand up to his lips. All the while, he never broke eye contact with her.

"It's never let me down before," he said, "Even when it's taken twenty years."

"Don't get too confident," Moira said.

"I'll try my best," he said.

Moving a little closer, she gestured around the room.

"And how comfortable do you feel with me telling about the part you played in all this?" Moira said.

"That's going to be a no-go on that," said Charles.

She nodded, but there was their brief imprisonment to consider. She'd explained to Charles what had happened before drifting off only a few hours ago, but the damage from that incident was going to leave its mark, both on their situation, and how she viewed the organization she was working for.

"I thought so, but I'm going to have to tell them something," she said, "And, not to mention, Stryker knows that…thing used you as a mouthpiece."

Sighing deeply, he ran one of his hands over his bald head. She could see his movements still, confused, perhaps, at the lack of hair. The same level of exhaustion remained though.

It was odd. Neither of them were as young as they once were, but they weren't exactly old. It was at times like this that Charles looked at least ten years her senior.

"I don't really know what to do with that," he said, "You may just have to tell the truth, but try to leave my name out. And, as for the children…"

He made a vague gesture.

"I think we may just have to say it was a group of mutants who were willing to stand up for what's right," he said.

"I think I can work with that," Moira said, "I'll just leave out the ages."

"Good point."

There was a pause, and she looked awkwardly at the man sitting next to her. There was so much left to do, and, yet, she didn't want to leave. She didn't want to let go of his hand, fearful she might not come back to this moment.

"Charles," she said, her voice soft, "Once I settle everything with the government, what about, well, us?"

He looked at her, surprised.

"I thought, after last night, that you wanted to-"

"Yes, of course I do," Moira said, "I just mean, logistically speaking…"

He grinned again.

"You really are a CIA agent through and through," he said.

"I'm serious," Moira said, annoyed, "I live in Virginia Charles. With my son. Last I checked you lived in New York, although, well, maybe not."

Charles winced. Maybe she shouldn't have been so blunt, but the school was gone. At least Raven had been the one to inform him about that particular turn of events. Moira had already been the bearer of so much bad news to him.

"Right now the children are probably in the Biology cabins," he said, "They're fully stocked, and they know to go there if there's an emergency. I'm probably going to find all the junk food gone, but they should be fine."

He scratched his head.

"As for us, well, we've both got some work to do over the next week or two," he said, "In two weeks, how possible would it be for you to get time off? I'd come to Virginia, it's just, I have the feeling going more than an hour from the school isn't going to be an option in the next six months."

"You want me to come visit?" she asked.

"I want you to be with me," Charles said, "You and your son. I'd love to meet him."

She paused, trying to figure out the right wording for what she wanted to say.

"Charles, how do you feel about Kevin?" she asked.

Again, she saw the surprise on his face, but she needed to ask this question. All of the evidence pointed one way, but she wasn't willing to take risks when it came to her son.

"Curiosity," he said, "He's your son after all. I want to know about your life, and I'm guessing he's a big part of it. But, at the same time…I…"

He gave a hard swallow.

"I'm sad he's the son of a man who hurt you instead of mine," said Charles, "But, if things work out, perhaps…"

His blue eyes turned hopefully toward hers.

"Perhaps he could be my son one day?" he asked.

She felt tears well up behind her eyes, and she ducked her head. Charles's arms wrapped around her.

"Rather forward, I know," he said, "But, well, if it was a bad answer then I doubt you'd let me hold you right now."

She chuckled and looked up, kissing him gently. One of his hands cupped her face, fanning her fingers out. After the kiss he barely pulled away, and she could feel his breath stirring her face.

Inwardly, she wondered how much he knew. He'd taken her memories away from her, certainly, but had he seen them all? Had he seen just how hard she'd fallen for him then? That she had been willing to die to keep their location secret?

Had he known that, when she went to the CIA, she was planning on handing in her resignation? They had nearly killed children on that beach, and Stryker's son was continuing his father's legacy in spades. She'd been held in a facility with no preamble, no rights, kidnapped really.

That wasn't something she was going to forget. It wasn't just that she was personally insulted by the proceedings which, honestly, she was. It was that it had happened to the civilians around her, people who had just been trying to help others. And what had they done with their help? Spit in their eyes.

Years ago she had hoped there would be a place at his school, a place that she believed in more than she had ever believed in any organization. She'd known things wouldn't be perfect at the CIA, that mistakes would be made and idols would fall. But she hadn't known it would be that bad.

Not having the knowledge she made to make that decision had allowed her to keep working. But, in the end, Moira was a woman who needed to serve a cause. At one point, that cause had been the government, and then mutants. At one point the two had intersected.

They didn't have to anymore, but she had Kevin to think about. She couldn't rush into any decisions about her future right now, not with a son she needed to take care of. He didn't have any idea what had happened over the past few days, let alone her finding a man she'd loved and lost.

That being said, she knew she would probably be able to get some time off in two weeks. Probably. The only thing she did know for certain was, after all, that she wasn't going to let Charles Xavier go. She might not have another twenty or thirty years to wait for him.

"I need to talk to my son, but, well, I think I could get two weeks off then," she murmured, "I've saved up a lot of vacation time."

He kissed her again, smiling against her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

Moira looked at the assembled group. She knew there were five senators there, the vice-president, and she was pretty sure that the president was listening in in some form or another. There was a public meeting among world leaders at the U.N. in two hours, and he'd need to be able to walk into the room knowing as much as they could tell them. Her boss was there too, looking at her with a mixture of pride and concern. She didn't blame him.

She hoped she could wrap up the meeting at Washington D.C. fairly soon. If she got out within two hours then she could take a flight that night to Virginia, arrive somewhere around 3 a.m. the next day. It was optimistic, but she had hope.

She'd already been able to let them see her dossier on En Sabah Nur. That should at least explain a little bit about who this ancient mutant that had returned to threaten their world was. It would save some time.

"I want to start by saying that, when I left my office yesterday, I had no idea what was going to happen," Moira said.

"Noted," her boss said.

She swallowed.

"But, after that, events took their own momentum," she said, "One of the people I was with was a telepath."

"A mutant?"

She wasn't quite sure who asked the question, and she resisted the urge to sigh. After all these times, did people still not fully understand how many types of mutants there were? Very few types of mutants were the same.

But there was something else in the question. A thread of suspicion perhaps? Moira was getting ready to answer, but her boss coughed.

"In her line of work, Agent MacTaggert deals with a number of mutants on a daily basis," he said, "I'm guessing that this was a new source."

She nodded. She'd discussed her next words very carefully. They didn't know how many members, if any, of Stryker's team were still alive. Even if they were all dead, there was no chance that they could afford to take that chance.

"His name's Charles Xavier," she said, "He's a mutant professor of genetics. I'd never talked to him before, but I was familiar with his work. It was why we were talking in the first place. And then I saw...for a few minutes I saw something take over."

It was fairly close to the truth.

"He was fighting it, but his friends were starting to panic," Moira said, "It happened next to his house and...before we knew what was going on, Nur came and took him. There was an explosion, and it's a wonder no one was hurt."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?"

She drew herself up as Stryker walked into the room. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her boss take note of her reaction.

"I thought this was a closed meeting," he said.

One of the senators waved Stryker over.

"Given Colonel Stryker's previous expertise with mutants, I thought he would be an asset to this meeting," he said, "Several of the Chiefs of Staff agreed with me."

Stryker sat down across from Moira. She splayed her fingers on the table. Moira hadn't quite covered this particular situation with Charles, but the gears in her brain were already whirring. She knew who she needed to protect. She would just have to make up the corresponding lies on the fly.

Or try a different tactic.

"I'm not going to discuss this with him here," Moira said.

There was a ripple of shock through the room, and Stryker smirked.

"He's my guest-"

"This man had me unlawfully detained after the building exploded," Moira said.

"I was questioning you," said Stryker, "I would've thought, given the situation, you would've understood."

"You knocked me out and took me to the Canadian border," she said.

"To a military base," he said, "One which I deemed safe."

"MacTaggert?" her boss asked.

She narrowed her eyes and breathed in. Perhaps she was going to stretch her luck with what she was going to say, but it was time to go for broke.

"And where you preform unconstitutional experiments on mutants?" she asked.

There was another ripple of conversation. The senator who had invited Stryker leaned in, looking concerned, but he waved him off.

"The man was a volunteer," Stryker said.

"Which is why he killed everyone and ran for the hills at the first opportunity?" asked Moira.

"He was unstable, and he only got out because your people let him out," he snapped.

She laughed and leaned back in her chair.

"People?" she asked, "What people, pray tell? You had me and my people locked up. All of us were in that room. What people?"

Red was creeping in on his jaw, and she knew she had to keep pushing.

"We had to be let out by one of your staff, who had been stabbed in the stomach," she said, "He only let us out because he was looking for help, and even he died five minutes after getting the door open."

Moira's words didn't quite have the impact on him that she'd hoped, but she could tell they were creating some sort of stir among the assembled guests. Good. Her words were laced with lies, but his were too. Her version was still the one closest to the truth.

And, more than anything, she wanted to see him shut down. Memories of his father, of what Raven had told her in that cell to prepare her for what might be coming, all of it told her that he was a man who needed to be stopped.

"I think," one senator said slowly, "That, while this is a topic I would like to hear more on, that we're getting off topic."

"I'm not discussing this with him in the room," Moira said.

"Now that's just being-"

"No, I agree," her boss said, "While I understand that this isn't the place to discuss this, and, trust me, I want to, I trust MacTaggert. And I don't feel comfortable discussing sensitive material in front of a man who abducted one of my agents. I request that he be removed from the room."

A few glances were shared across the room, and then a voice came through what sounded like a speaker system.

"Get him out. We'll return to this. And soon."

There was a pause, and then one of the senators nodded.

"Yes Mr. President."

Stryker got up, his eyes locked with Moira's. She glared back, unwilling to even blink. She didn't exhale until he left the room and, even then, it wasn't a deep breath. Moira had the feeling that this wasn't over.

* * *

Kevin wondered if he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before. He was a little tired, and he was getting a headache. He was feeling even more detached than usual, and at the same time hyper-aware of everything.

Maybe he'd been eating too much pizza. He'd never actually believed it was bad for him, but his mother was so insistent. He should've listened to her.

His classwork was starting to blur in front of him. He blinked twice, trying to figure out what the equation on his paper meant. This would be easy any other day, but his headache was making everything a little more difficult.

"Has your mother come back from her business trip yet?"

Kevin shook his head, not looking at his teacher. His head already hurt without having to deal with the man. He'd only told him about his excuse yesterday, and Kevin had said he'd tell him when his mother came back. Apparently the idiot hadn't been listening.

"And when, pray tell, will she be coming back?"

Kevin did look up then. He was starting to apply extra pressure on his pencil. Why did he keep asking him that? Couldn't he tell that he didn't want to start talking to him? It wasn't that difficult to tell, he didn't think.

Not to mention that he would tell his teacher when his mother came back. Granted, he had no intention of doing that because he'd thrown the letter away, but his teacher didn't know that.

"I dunno," he said.

"Are you sure about that?" his teacher asked, "What if I were to call your phone, ask her if she got the letter?"

His stomach clenched. He didn't like the idea of the teacher calling his mother and bothering her. She wasn't home yet, admittedly, but what if he tried once she got back? There was a reason why Kevin hadn't wanted to bother her with this.

"No one'll pick up, because I'm staying with Uncle Levine," Kevin said matter-of-factly.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I was there last night, and unless he's got a surprise trip waiting, I'll be there tonight," Kevin said.

His teacher glared at him, and Kevin turned back to his paper.

"You can call," he said, "And find out. But no one's home."

His teacher shook his head and walked away.

 _It's like he doesn't understand I'm trying to help him. Of all the ungrateful…_

Kevin broke his pencil on his paper. He jerked his head up, but his teacher had already left the room. How dare he? How dare he think that giving his mother stuff to worry about, that talking about his father, was going to help anything?

Another stab from his headache made him look down. The bell rang for lunch and he grabbed his lunch box from underneath his desk. Perhaps he should try to get home early. He'd tell someone he was about to throw up. Kevin pressed a hand to his forehead as he walked. Yes, he felt warm. Maybe he could get sent home early.

A kid bumped into him, nearly pushing him to the ground.

"Watch it!" he yelled.

 _Idiot should pay more attention. Weirdo._

Kevin clenched his lunch box tighter. No right. They had no right to say that about him. He remembered the kids the teacher had talked about in his report, the ones who were trying to get a rise out of him that day. When words hadn't worked they'd tried fists.

Still angry, he walked outside and veered off, away from the cafeteria. Kevin found a hidden, grassy knoll that he liked, and crouched down.

 _He's struggling, and I have serious concerns about him. I think that, without some sort of help, he won't be able to make it through the next year. Academically, he'll be fine but, socially, I believe he'll be far behind in every way._

"You don't know anything," Kevin muttered, "You don't. None of you do."

His fingers rested on the lunch pail, the thought of the leftover pizza making his stomach churn. He wanted to be back home. He wanted to talk to his mom, to tell her that he'd be fine, and to have her agree with him.

Gritting his teeth, Kevin gripped his lunch box tighter. His fingers were trembling against the box.

 _I don't want this_ , he thought.

He opened his eyes again, breathing deeply. Kevin had to calm down. He couldn't fake sick: she would worry. He couldn't make her come home sooner: he didn't have that kind of power. With a frustrated sigh he flung open the latches on his lunch box.

A carton of juice met his eyes, as did a homemade sandwich. There was a green apple in there too, crisp like it had just been washed and shined. A paper note was stuck to the sandwich, telling him his mother would be back by six, signed with her love.

Kevin took a deep, shuddering breath. The image of the food began to wobble, almost as though lines were appearing through it. As he watched, it became a thermos filled with fruit punch, pizza wrapped up in in plastic wrap.

Tears blurred his eyes. Still clutching his lunch box, Kevin bowed his head and cried.


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you done yet?"

Charles rolled his eyes and tapped his paper with his pen. One of the things he hadn't really anticipated when he opened a school was the massive amount of paperwork. Actually teaching in addition to running the school's day-to-day meant another pile of papers at the day's end.

But it looked like he was going to get a break, whether he wanted it or not.

"Come in Raven," he said.

She opened the door, looking vaguely annoyed.

"The proper etiquette is, I believe, knocking," he said.

"Don't care," she said, "I'm exhausted. Your students are a handful."

"Your students too now," said Charles.

Raven sat down in the chair next to him, putting her feet up on his desk. She folded her hands on her stomach, looking at the ceiling.

"They're pretty green, even Storm," she said.

"Most of them had their first real fight the day before yesterday," Charles said, "I think you can give them some time to adjust. And Peter, even with his super healing, is still rather immature."

"We can't wait forever," said Raven.

He put down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

"Is there something in particular that's bothering you?" he asked.

"Jean's too timid," she said, "It's like what happened in Cairo burned her out."

Inwardly, he winced. He didn't want to have this conversation.

"I was against even letting her into training so soon," said Charles, "She should be resting, but I think she didn't want to be left out. Not when she finally feels like she's fitting in."

His sister frowned.

"Charles, what exactly did she do?" asked Raven, "I mean, I saw the fire. I felt it from where I was. But it was more than that, wasn't it?"

He paused, choosing his words with care. It was a touchy subject, and one even he wasn't sure he understood completely. Everything he did understand though, pointed toward one conclusion.

Jean was, without a doubt, the most powerful mutant he'd ever met. But he could tell there was something else to that power, something that seemed to be pulling at the sweet, shy girl who'd come to his school with a head full of voices and a heart full of fear.

And he didn't like the direction it was pulling her, didn't like the lingering fear whenever he touched her mind. The only thing he did know for sure was that she couldn't be pushed. He didn't think the world could survive it.

"Yes," Charles said.

Raven inclined her head, but Charles shook his.

"In her own time, I think," he said.

"That's not fair," Raven said, "You can't just-"

"Raven, some things are not mine to share," said Charles, "Just know that I think she'll need extra understanding and patience in the coming months."

"She's not a child," said Raven, "You can't just build them up like they're little lambs that need to be protected and then help them wage a war-"

"First off," Charles said, "with the exception of Peter, they are children. They've been put into soldiers' positions, true enough, and I would trust them with my life. I have. But don't forget that, beneath all that fight, they're not even old enough to drink. Some can't even legally drive yet."

Raven snorted.

"Kurt's nearly seventeen."

She paused then, as though frozen in place by her own words. Charles took a deep breath, waiting, and hoping.

 _Please,_ he willed, _Please tell me what I've seen since the day Kurt walked into my school. Tell me what his skin means, your protective nature. Tell me the truth Raven. Claim him as your son so I can claim him as my nephew. Please._

For a minute, he thought that, even without his telepathy, she'd heard him.

"You should at least know how old they all are," said Raven, "He says he's starting classes in a few days."

His heart sank down into his stomach. Charles wanted to ask her but, like Jean, he didn't think his sister could be pushed.

"Of course," he said quietly, "I'll have to check his record again. I can't have him repeating a grade."

He swallowed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"I'm asking for your patience Raven," he said, "They're children."

"They're the same age I was when we went to Cuba," Raven said, "Some are older."

"And I hated that," Charles said.

She snorted.

"You know, I thought you were really starting to see sense when you asked me to help train them," Raven said, "But it's the same thing all over again. You don't want soldiers: you want students."

"But I can't afford to have them, can I?" asked Charles, "Whether or not you believe it, I know we don't live in a perfect world. I knew that from the moment I asked teens to stand with me against Shaw. But we have something we didn't have then."

She raised an eyebrow.

"And that is?"

"Time," he said, "The world is not falling apart. The apocalypse isn't on the horizon. We have a little bit of time before they'll need to go back onto the field, and we need to utilize that. We need to do what we should've done that day on the beach."

Closing his eyes briefly, Charles leaned forward.

"I need to do things right this time Raven," he said, "And that starts with how I train my X-men."

"Our X-men," Raven said.

"Good," Charles said, "You understand."

She blinked, and then jerked her feet off his desk. Without another word she pushed her chair away and then walked out of the office, slamming the door. Charles leaned back and rubbed his face, gritting his teeth.

The sound of the phone made him jump. He glanced at his cell phone, half buried beneath the papers on his desk. Although he didn't feel in the mood to take any calls, he picked it up and clicked it on. For all he knew it was Hank, asking him to come down to the lab.

"Charles Xavier," he said.

"Hey."

He let out a breath and managed a small smile.

"I wasn't expecting you to call so soon," he said.

"I didn't think I'd have time," Moira said, "It's just...well...how's your day been?"

Briefly, he glanced up at the door Raven had slammed only seconds earlier.

"Alright," he said cautiously.

"Huh. You sound like your day's been as bad as mine," said Moira.

"You had a bad day?" he asked.

"I'm stuck at the airport. It took off ten minutes before I got here."

Charles sighed as he shifted the phone from one side of his neck to the other. He knew how much she'd wanted to get back to her son that night. To have missed her flight by only a few minutes, it must be driving her mad.

He could tell from her tone that the reason she had missed the flight was driving her insane too, but she hadn't elaborated. Perhaps it wasn't safe to say.

"I'm sorry Moira," he said.

"No, it's just..." she sighed.

He could almost hear her run a hand through her hair. The sound on the cell phone was coming through choppy. He could only assume she'd managed to find a secure location before calling him.

If she hadn't known that he had a cell phone then she wouldn't be able to call at all. He was glad that he'd splurged a few years ago.

"I told them tomorrow, but I'd hoped that I could surprise them by coming back today," she said, "Just...these past few years haven't exactly been easy on Kevin."

"I can imagine," Charles said quietly.

His own parents had fought for years before his father had died, and that had brought his mother into a tailspin she had never climbed out of. While he had an idea that the divorce had been for Kevin's own good as well as Moira's, that didn't mean it had been an easy ordeal.

"I just want to be able to surprise him every now and then," said Moira, "Give him some sort of special treat."

"I'm sure he understands," said Charles, "Children can be remarkably resilient when they care about someone."

"Perhaps," Moira said, "I'm just tired of him having to be resilient all the time."

"You're doing the best you can," said Charles, "No one can ask you to do anything more."

"Yes they can," said Moira, "When you're a parent, they can ask 110 percent and more, and you'll try to give it to them, because, if you can't, who can?"

Charles thought of the children downstairs in his newly-rebuilt school, of the ones who had stepped into the newly-christened Danger Room that afternoon. He said a silent prayer that they would be safe in a world that was remembering to fear them as well as despise them.

And he said a prayer for Erik too, wherever he was. It was a different feeling than the one he had for his students, but it was just as ardent, just as desperate.

"I think I understand," Charles said.

"I know you do," she replied.

He smiled softly. While he hadn't made the decision to reform the X-men before she left, he hoped that she would understand when he saw her again. It was too risky, even over cell phones, to say what he was planning on doing.

"I managed to get a room at the airport hotel," she said, "Bit much, but it beats sleeping in the terminal."

"Doubtlessly," Charles said.

She laughed on the other end. He imagined her leaning back on the bed, finally getting a chance to rest after so many hours on her feet, endless minutes spent talking to politicians and generals about the state of the world.

It was a soothing image, and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine how her hair looked spread out on the pillow.

"What made your day so bad?" asked Moira.

"Well," Charles said, "a friend left today and I got into a fight with my sister."

He didn't think it was safe to say too much more. She sighed on the other end.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I knew the first was coming," he said, "I just didn't think the second would happen quite so soon."

"I remember her being quite a handful," Moira said.

"She hasn't mellowed with age," Charles said.

She laughed again, and Charles smiled at the sound.

"Give her some time," said Moira, "I...I know how difficult it can be to come back to a place where you want to succeed, you want to show them what you're made of, but you feel like there are a lot of memories dragging you down."

"Your...job?" he asked tentatively.

Please. Please let it be her job and not the school, not him.

"Yes," she said, "Not you."

Sometimes he had to wonder which one of them was the mind reader. Or perhaps he was just so painfully obvious around her? She yawned on the other end.

"I have to get to bed," she said, "I can't afford to be late to my flight tomorrow."

"Alright," he said, "Let me know when you get back to Virginia."

"Protective much?" she asked, amused.

"No," said Charles.

His tone, he knew, was defensive, but he couldn't help it. Swallowing once, he lowered his voice.

"Merely looking forward to the next time I can hear you speak," he said.

She made a sound on the other end of the phone that sounded halfway between a scoff and a sigh.

"Me too," Moira said.

It wasn't the words he was expecting, but that didn't mean they weren't a welcome surprise.

"Take care of yourself," he said.

"You too Charles," Moira said.


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm glad you're back."

Moira smiled tiredly at Levine. Flying back had been hectic, and she'd been held up at the last minute by another conference call. She'd had to resort to calling Levine and begging him to pick her up.

However, she was back in Virginia now. Her son wasn't expecting her for another two hours, and she should get there right after he arrived home from school. Maybe giving him that treat wasn't as hopeless as it had sounded the day before.

"I'm glad to be back," she said, "I'd forgotten just how stressful crisis meetings were."

"See, that's why I got out," he said, "It takes a toll on you MacTaggert."

She grinned back.

"Only on people who can't handle the heat," she said.

"Come on," he said, "Let's be fair here. How many times did I have your back? And we both know I was a much better shot than you."

He cocked his head, considering.

"Seventy-five percent of the time anyway," he said.

"I'd say more like twelve," Moira said.

"Come on," he said.

He turned a corner, tapping the wheel with his fingers.

"Seriously though," he said, "You ever think about getting out?"

She leaned her head against the window, wondering just how much she should tell Levine. Moira knew she hadn't told him about her desire to get out twenty years ago, her concerns about some of their agency's methods.

Maybe that was why Levine had decided to get out early, to take a quieter life. He'd seen the way the agency had handled mutants, and she knew it disturbed him. She'd never been one for quiet, more for action. She knew enough about herself to know that she was a fighter, but it had always mattered to her what she was fighting for.

"Let's say I've been considering it more and more recently," she said, "It's just...well, things are getting crazy fast."

"You're telling me," Levine said, "First off Erik Lensherr decides to show his face again, then whatever the hell that was with the atomic missiles a few days ago, and that voice in my head."

Again, there was that pause. Although Levine was one of her oldest friends, she knew he didn't forgive Charles for what had gone down in Cuba. Even when she didn't have her memories he said they'd been screwed over, betrayed.

She'd always wondered if he'd meant Erik going off the deep end or the loss of her memories. Then again, she doubted they'd told him they'd tried to blow her and the rest of the team sky high after they'd completed their mission. And, with her memories gone, she wouldn't have known either.

Now that she knew, should she tell him? Would it change anything, or was it too late in his eyes? She shook off the questions, feeling too tired to argue. Instead, she wanted to talk about more pleasant subjects, things she cared about more.

"How's Kevin been handling this?" she asked.

"I tried to keep him shielded from most of it," Levine said, "He's real mature, but he's still pretty young."

"And smart," Moira said, "If he felt you were hiding something from him, he'll have tried to find out."

"I'd know if he was up to anything," said Levine, "I was a member of the CIA you know."

He turned another corner.

"Nah, he's doing okay. He's a tough cookie."

* * *

 _You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you-_

Kevin closed his eyes, breathing hard. The bus ride was hot and, above all, loud. He usually liked to read on his ride home, and he wanted to finish _Persuasion_. He was getting to a good part too.

But it was too loud. He couldn't concentrate. Every few seconds noise slammed into him, ruining his concentration.

 _I think we have too much homework. I wonder how much of it I can say the dog ate._

 _Dad's not gonna take me to the park when he sees the grade I got-_

 _I wonder if I can talk my brother into-_

 _When does-?_

 _How-_

He gritted his teeth. Why couldn't they all shut up? They needed to shut up, just a little bit. He was starting to get a headache, and he was feeling nauseous. Levine had long ago made him a spare key, so he figured he should just go to the guest room and lie down when he got home.

Kevin shut the book and leaned against the glass. It was cool and soothing, but people kept talking.

 _What's he doing, sleeping?_

 _Man, he's weird. He just looked at me when I punched him the other day. Like I was the weird one._

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. Suddenly, he heard a flurry and opened his eyes. One seat over one of the boys who had hurt him a few days before was trying frantically to gather his papers. It looked like his backpack had fallen open and a breeze had caught his homework.

Kevin smirked. He'd had it coming. The smirk aggravated his headache though, and he leaned back against the glass as the papers flew away from the boy. The taste of old pizza was starting to tickle his throat, and he hoped he could at least make it home before he threw up. The day had already been bad enough.

The bus stopped, and Kevin recognized the neighborhood. He got out, shifting his backpack. Every step sent his head throbbing, almost as though there were a nerve connected directly to his feet as he stepped down the stairs.

At least he would be somewhere quiet soon.

 _Geez, the kid couldn't even say goodbye? His mom must not be teaching him his manners._

He whirled around at the bus driver despite the growing nausea. First his teacher, now this guy. How dare they?

"My mom teaches me just fine," Kevin snapped.

The bus driver looked shocked, but Kevin took the last step and hit the pavement. He clutched his backpack straps to steady himself, feeling wobbly with every step he took. He'd be back to Levine's house soon, but he doubted he was going to make it to the bedroom. Maybe he could just curl up on the sofa.

But the noise didn't stop. It was like everyone was talking at the top of their lungs. His stomach lurched and he closed his eyes, hoping the sidewalk would continue on for a little longer. He had to keep moving.

 _I can't get dinner ready in time._

 _I hate you._

 _Go away and die somewhere, won't you!_

 _If that bitch isn't back in the next five minutes, I swear to God-_

His skull felt like it was on fire, and his feet were made of lead. He sank down on the sidewalk. The nausea was gone, but the pain was still there, growing and looping in unendingly on itself.

"Stop talking," Kevin whispered.

 _The news is getting really weird. What are we supposed to do about the Ruskies without any nukes?_

 _You need to learn your place. I can teach you._

 _So twenty multiplied by twenty is-_

 _Go away-_

 _I can't wait until I can move out-_

He put his hands on the ground, feeling the concrete grounding him. Everything was swirling even though his eyes were closed. What was happening?

 _Kevin!_

"Kevin!"

Woozily, he looked up. A car had pulled up on the curb and he saw his mother running out. He winced. He didn't want her to see him sick. He didn't want her to worry, didn't want her to think that something was wrong.

 _Academically, he'll be fine but, socially, I believe he'll be far behind in every way._

No. He needed to be fine. If she ever saw those words, he needed her to know that they were lies.

"m'okay," he managed.

Kevin wasn't sure she heard him. She knelt by him, yanking off his backpack and gathering him into her arms. One of her hands went up against his forehead. It was soothing and, even though he was worried, it felt good to know things would be better.

 _He's burning up. I need to get him some medicine, something. Children don't just collapse. I need to get Levine to call 911-_

"Don't need an ambulance," he mumbled.

His mother stopped and looked at him, almost questioningly.

 _Did he just...?_

"Uncle Levine doesn't need to call anyone," he said.

Her eyes widened.

 _Kevin, if you can hear this, say green._

It seemed like a silly question, but he'd do anything his mother asked at this point.

"Green," Kevin muttered.

Her fingers briefly stilled, and then began stroking his forehead.

 _Oh._

"Kevin, it's going to be alright," she said, "You're going to be alright."

"I don't feel alright," he said.

He swallowed, just in time for a fresh onslaught.

 _Is Kevin okay? He's been acting a little funny for the last few days. Oh God, please don't let me have missed something. Please, please let him be alright-_

 _You get back over here right now! You hear me! Right now or so help me-!_

 _I can make the movies if I hurry up. I think I have enough gas to get there-_

 _She's been hogging the TV all week-_

"Stop," Kevin moaned.

But it didn't stop. They just kept coming faster, like small hits to his head.

 _Stop being such a dork!_

 _Yeah, I can go shopping later-_

 _Is Kevin alright?_

 _I need to get back to my phone. I need to see if I can help him. No one ever told me it was painful. I can't have him in pain-_

"Stop!" he shouted.

His hands tensed up and, a second later, he felt his mother's warmth leave him. He suddenly found himself alone on the pavement. Kevin began to look around, frightened, searching. Where had she gone?

He saw her lying far down the sidewalk, trying to push herself back up. Levine was running over to her, looking shocked, but Kevin stayed moored to the spot. He looked down at his hands, felt them pulsing.

Because of who his mother was, he knew exactly what a mutant was. She'd talked to him in great length about how they were people, just with a few extra talents. He'd asked her to explain as much as she could, although he hadn't quite understood what she'd meant about genomes.

So, when he put two and two together, the pulsing in his hands, the noise in his head, he knew what he was. Somewhere, a change had been made in his building blocks, leaving him with something that made him different.

He knew mutants were normal, just a simple fact of life. If he'd met one, he wouldn't have thought twice about acting normally around them. His mother said it was cruel to treat them differently when there was nothing wrong with them, when they were just like other people with a small gift.

But none of that mattered in that moment. He'd just shoved his mother a block away from him. Was she hurt? Had he hurt her? He hadn't meant to, and that was scaring him. If he hadn't meant to do that, what else would he do that he didn't have any control over? Would he hurt her again?

And, looking at his mother as she tried to get up, as Levine tried to help her to her feet, he made a decision. He couldn't hurt her.

So he ran.


	7. Chapter 7

Charles sat awkwardly across from Scott, his hands in his lap. Although Scott had agreed to meet him, he knew the boy might not be willing to talk. After all, Charles was little more than a stranger to him, someone who was supposed to help him and who he'd spent only a few days with. He didn't exactly fit the definition of someone you would spill your feelings to on the death of your brother.

He looked around the room, searching for words. Alex had died three days ago, and Scott was only now willing to talk about what had happened. Yet, even that seemed illusory. The teen hadn't said more than a handful of words since he'd come in, mostly about what class he had next.

Charles looked around the room, searching for inspiration. He'd had to talk to his students about many difficult situations, but the death of a beloved sibling had not been one of them. Having that sibling be one of his first students, a friend that stretched back twenty years, made it even worse.

In the aftermath of Nur's destruction, and the chaos that had followed, he'd barely had time to hear about Alex's death, let alone process it himself. How much worse would it be for a boy who wasn't even old enough to vote? Where had he been able to find the strength to fight against the most powerful mutant the world had ever seen?

He barely knew Scott, but Charles was quickly getting the idea that he was as strong as his brother had been. Perhaps even stronger. He was going to need every ounce of it in the years ahead, every milestone he knew his brother would've been proud of.

Life was about to change drastically for Scott. He'd notified his foster parents of the change in Scott's situation, but Scott hadn't wanted to return home. Charles could, in a way, understand. The school had been the place Alex had taken him, the place he'd died. Scott was clinging to it now as the setting of his last memories with his brother.

Charles held his hands in his lap, thinking.

"I don't think your brother thought too much of me when we first met," he said at last.

Scott looked up, and Charles saw his own reflection in the boy's red-tinted glasses. He looked a lot calmer than he felt.

"We'd just bailed him out of jail, solitary to be precise," said Charles, "I know neither you nor your brother had it particularly easy growing up. You hadn't even been born yet then but, in the following years, he did talk about you. He was...excited to bring you here when he found out about your mutation. Concerned for you, since he knew how much trouble he'd had, but he believed you'd like it here. His words were, I think, 'He's gonna think this place is so freakin' awesome.'"

The teen chuckled for a moment, and then bowed his head.

"Jean said he thought I was going to be the one to go places, to do things," he whispered.

Charles wasn't surprised. When he'd talked to Alex over the phone, he'd said he felt Scott was destined for something, that he only needed the proper support. It looked like Charles would have to be that support now. He owed Alex that much.

"He thought you had a shot at college if you could keep out of the principal's office," Charles said.

"He always was a dreamer," muttered Scott.

For a moment, Charles hesitated. Then he reached out and touched Scott's shoulder. Scott turned to look at his hand, and then gazed back at him. So much expression was said to be housed in the eyes, and Charles had never even seen Scott's true eye color.

But it appeared the face could have the same amount of desolation written across it.

"No," Charles said, "Alex may have had a rocky start, but his loyalty ran deep. He wanted the best for the people he cared about. That didn't make him a dreamer Scott. It made him a good student, a good friend..."

Again, he hesitated, but there was no reason to omit facts.

"...and a good brother," he said.

Scott's shoulders trembled, his hands clenched into fists. Charles could see tears leaking out from beneath his glasses, trailing down Scott's face. The boy took a shuddering breath, trying to center himself.

"He was one of the best people I ever knew," said Charles, "And, more than anything, he did love you."

"I know," Scott murmured, "I just...he..."

His words were drowned out for a minute, and then he swallowed.

"I miss him so much..."

Charles tightened his hand on Scott's shoulder, and the teen continued crying, this time more earnestly. It was too much, he knew, for someone so young to feel. His parents had died when he was young, and Charles couldn't imagine that being easy. But Alex had died fighting an ancient power, and he'd been the last living relation Scott had.

His sobs subsided and, abruptly, Scott got up.

"I've got to get to class," he mumbled.

"You don't have to," said Charles, "I cleared it with Mr. Guthrie."

Scott shook his head, furiously wiping his cheeks.

"I...I should," he said, "I need to-"

"If you need to be alone," Charles said, "There's no shame in that."

This part, this would be easy compared to everything else. He'd said it so many times before after all.

"But any time you need to talk," said Charles, "I promise, I will be there."

Scott stared at him in a manner so reminiscent of Alex at that age that he nearly wept. Everything was there, the defensive posture, the fear, and the helpless, hopeless desire for the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy to stop.

He could only hope he would find the same peace Alex had.

"Thank you," Scott said quietly.

Wiping his face once more, Scott turned and left the room. Charles bowed his head and rubbed his temples. His own pain was threatening to overwhelm him, memories of a cynical 15-year-old who looked at him suspiciously trickling into his head. That suspicion had given way to trust, and that trust had given way to faith when he brought his young brother there, hoping Charles could help him.

The door opened, and Charles looked up, pushing the memories away. Hank stood in the doorway, holding a cell phone uncertainly.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine," said Charles.

Hank turned the phone over in his hands.

"I just, I saw Scott leave," he said, "He didn't look so good."

"We were talking about Alex," said Charles.

One of his two remaining students from the days when the only thing they worried about was Shaw looked away, no doubt lost in his own memories. How could Shaw seem like such a small thing now?

He frowned then, looking at Hank. Raven had been the one to tell him about Alex's death when she told him about the school blowing up. Raven hadn't been too close to Alex as far as he knew, but she wasn't talking to him about many important things these days. As far as he knew, Hank hadn't said a word concerning the death of his old friend.

"Hank, do you need to talk?" asked Charles.

Hank suddenly straightened and fumbled with the phone in his hands. Charles suddenly recognized it as his.

"Your phone rang," he said, "I heard it and grabbed it, but it had already stopped ringing."

Charles knew that the call was from Moira: few other people had his number. Her plane would've touched down a little while ago, and he knew she'd check in. She still hadn't been able to elaborate on how the meeting had gone, and he wanted to make sure everything was alright.

Although his heart ached for the phone, for the relief knowing that at least one person he cared about was safe, he knew a deliberate dodge when he saw one.

"Hank-"

"I think they tried to call you twice," Hank said, "Real close together. Like an emergency."

The words were abrupt and sharp, and Charles knew that the door to that conversation had, however temporarily, been shut. But if Moira had encountered an emergency upon landing, then that was something that needed to be attended to immediately.

Hank held out the phone, and Charles took it.

"It's probably Moira," he murmured, punching the number in.

Hank stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to look at the books on the shelves. Charles cradled the phone in his shoulder, listening to it ring through. It was picked up quickly, almost as if the person had already been holding it.

"Hello. This is Charles Xavier," Charles said, trying to keep his tone cheerful.

"Charles..."

The word came out as a sob, the syllables wrenched from her lips. He gripped the arm of his wheelchair, panic seeping into him. What had happened to make her sound like that, like her heart was breaking?

"What's wrong?" he asked, "Moira, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said, "I just...Kevin..."

She took a shuddering breath and Charles gripped the armrest even tighter. It made a noise and Hank turned around.

"He's a mutant Charles," she said, "He was reading my mind."

For a moment, he felt his heart sink. She was crying because her son was a mutant? A mutant like him? Granted, Charles had gone through many trials when he was a child, and life could be difficult for mutants. But to cry like that...and to come from her...

It took only a second for him to snap himself out of it. No. This wasn't some bigot who hated mutants. This was Moira who had accepted him without question. Something else was wrong, terribly wrong.

"He threw me across the street," she said, "I know it was an accident, and I wanted to make sure he knew that, but his face Charles...he looked so broken, and I couldn't help him."

Yes, he could imagine. Charles had seen that same brokenness in many of his students, searching for a way to become whole at the school. He could see Hank was taking an interest in the conversation, concern growing on his face as the seconds ticked on.

"Moira," he tried.

"Charles he ran," she said, "I tried to get up but I couldn't catch him and he was gone before I knew it. Charles, I don't know where he is!"

Her breath caught again and his eyes met Hank. Although he knew his friend didn't know the situation, they shared a brief, concerned look. God, a frightened eight-year-old telepath alone in a neighborhood in Virginia. Charles knew enough to know that was a recipe for disaster, both for Kevin and those around him.

"Please, he's scared, he's alone. He's only eight," Moira said, "I tried to run after him, but I can't, I can't...I tried to call you...please find him Charles. I know you can."

"I'm heading to Cerebro now," said Charles, using his free hand to grab the wheel of the wheelchair, "Moira, I've only seen him briefly in a photo. So tell me what he's wearing, where you last saw him, any details. It will help me find him, and recognize him when I do."

She gulped on the other end, no doubt trying to calm herself down. Usually she kept such a level head, but he understood her panic. It was the same panic he'd felt when Nur's hand was tightening around Raven's throat in Cairo. There was so much pain there wasn't room for anything else.

Hank grabbed the back of his wheelchair after a few seconds, shoving him toward the exit of his office. The situation might be hazy, but Hank had heard where he was going. He could count on his friend to help in whatever way he could.

"Jeans," Moira said, her voice still trembling but sounding more like herself, "A red plaid t-shirt. Button up. Our home is 641 Oak Lane. I saw him running out of the suburb toward one of the wooded areas. Levine went after him, but something's wrong with my legs."

The doors to Cerebro beckoned, and Hank gave him a look. He couldn't bring the cell phone into the room, especially with Cerebro so newly-rebuilt. He could try to find him with whatever boost he had received from Nur, but it was too raw, too untested.

"Moira, I have to hang up now," he said, "The cell phone interferes with the machine."

He heard a sob on the other end of the phone, and Charles clenched the phone tightly, as if he could reach out and hold her, comfort her.

"Please," she said, "Just...please find him."

"On my life," Charles said.


	8. Chapter 8

The trees around him had started to splinter, but the voices were muted. That was a good thing. In a few minutes he might be able to bring himself to care about the trees, but all Kevin could care about was getting things quiet.

Quiet was good. He ran faster, the leaden feeling long gone in his legs. Quiet and fast. As long as he thought about that, had a goal, then he couldn't think about what he'd done. However, the sight of his mother on the pavement seemed permanently burned into his brain, like a punishment. He saw it every time he closed his eyes, usually before a tree splintered somewhere.

He tripped on something and fell onto the grass. Kevin barely registered the pain. How could this have happened? Kevin should've known better, should've been better. He'd always thought he was better.

Behind socially. He buried his face in the grass. It seemed like such a joke. He couldn't even believe he'd been concerned with all that nonsense. Kevin wanted to go back to the time when that was his biggest worry, trying to make sure his mother didn't see that letter.

His mother. Kevin curled up into a ball, crying. Was she hurt bad? Would she have scars, marks, bruises? What had he done?

 _If I could just finish this up in time, then I can get a head start on everything tomorrow._

 _I should get to sleep a little earlier tonight. God, my head is pounding._

 _The kids should be back soon-_

 ** _Kevin?_**

He blinked once, trying to block it out like he did all the rest of the noise that filtered into his head. He wasn't very good at it, but he could certainly try. This felt different though, softer, quieter. He wished all the voices could be like that. It would've made everything much easier.

 _Kevin, please, I'm trying to help. Your mother is very worried about you right now._

At the mention of his mother Kevin paused. He turned toward the warm words, gently prodding them. It also seemed, oddly enough, familiar.

 _Hello?_ he asked.

 _Hello Kevin,_ the voice said _, I'm a friend of your mother's. She's looking for you-_

 _I think I'm gonna get McDonald's tonight._

Kevin winced at the interruption. It was louder than the rest. Maybe a car had gone by, and it was that person. He might have been near a road.

 _Alright. Let's just make sure we're not disturbed then, shall we?_

Suddenly, all of the voices stopped, even the muted ones. Kevin sat up, looking around. It was the first time it had been quiet in hours. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks again, thanking the powers that be for the blessed silence.

 _There, I think that's better._

Despite his desire for silence, Kevin began looking around. Where was the voice coming from? Who had done this, who had made them be quiet? Kevin dug his hands into the grass, the dirt shoved underneath his fingertips.

 _What did you do?_

 _Well, it's sort of complicated,_ the voice explained, _But I've helped block your mind from most thoughts. Imagine someone catching a firefly amidst a sea of them, their hands wrapping around it. Unless something very major comes up, it should just be you and me for a while._

His breath caught. So this was in his head, all in his head. It was as easy as having a conversation though, at least with this voice. The feeling of familiarity was growing, like maybe he'd heard it somewhere a long time ago.

 _Who are you?_

 _As I said, a friend of your mother's,_ the voice said, _My name is Professor Charles Xavier, and I'm like you._

 _A mutant?_

 _That's right,_ Charles said.

 _Have we met?_

 _No, but you might have heard me. I was...coerced into sending a message a few days ago. Everyone should've heard it.  
_

Kevin tried to focus and think back to a few days ago. When he did he could hear a few scattered words echoing in his head, of everyone in school talking about hearing a voice in their heads the next day. He didn't pay much attention to his classmates though.

 _I think I might have been asleep when that happened_ , he admitted.

 _Well, no harm there. It's not like it's anything important when it happened, and it certainly isn't important now. What's important right now is you._

He suddenly felt nervous, and broke into a sweat. Charles had made the voices go away, but he didn't know anything else about him. What would happen when he knew about what Kevin had done earlier?

 _I started hearing voices when I was quite young too. I know how painful it can be._

His fingers dug deeper into the grass and the dirt. He doubted this Charles really understood.

 _Could you throw things around too?_ asked Kevin.

There was a pause. Kevin already knew the answer before it came.

 _No. No I couldn't._

 _Then it's not the same_ , Kevin said.

He didn't mean to be cruel, but it wasn't. It just wasn't.

 _No_ , Charles thought, _Not exactly. But I've met plenty of mutants with your gifts-_

 _Gifts! I threw my mother across the block!_

The thought felt like a scream. Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force away the image of his mother, hurt and on the pavement. He wanted to find out how she was, but he couldn't go back. He couldn't bear to have her look at him differently.

 _I know it doesn't feel like a gift at the moment. I certainly know it didn't feel that way for me, not at first,_ Charles said, _I know how much pain you're going through right now, how much confusion._

There was a pause in his thoughts, almost like a hitch.

 _I know what hurting someone you love by accident feels like._

The words were soft, almost quieter than the first ones. Kevin opened his eyes a crack. He knew he wouldn't see anyone when he did so, but he couldn't help it. There was so much understanding in the voice, so much acceptance.

It felt a bit like someone was holding his hand, telling him it was going to be okay. But there was so much Charles still didn't know.

 _But only bad people hurt good people,_ Kevin said.

 _You're not a bad person._

 _But I don't want..._ Kevin tried. _  
_

 _What?_

 _Nothing,_ Kevin said.

 _I doubt that._

 _No, I just, you can't, I was just..._ Kevin said.

He looked down at his dirt-streaked hands.

 _Only bad people hurt my mom. And the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her._

 _She knows it was an accident,_ Charles said, _You have to believe that._

 _You don't understand._

 _Then help me to._

Kevin looked around the clearing, trying to get inspiration. He wanted to trust the voice, wanted to tell him, but there were things he didn't talk about. There were things he wanted to keep buried, things he didn't want his mom to know. All she knew was that he knew his father hurt her, and he hated him for it. There was no need for anything more.

But Charles was trying to help. He was friends with his mom, or so he said. Maybe he already knew a little of it? Or maybe he was connected to her work. That would explain why Kevin had never met him and she'd never mentioned him. Was he allowed to tell him?

He bit his lip and bowed his head further down.

Kevin, Charles said, _I know your mother. I know how much she loves you. If you think that something like this is going to change that, you're wrong. I don't think there's anything you could do to-_

 _I DON'T WANNA BE MY FATHER!  
_

The thought felt like a scream, and he gasped out a breath accordingly. Although he tried to stop them, a deluge of memories poured forth. The day he wouldn't make a fist, and his mother stood up for him. Wood chips flew in the air, and a few leaves scattered on the ground.

 _Kevin-_

The sound of a fist hitting meat. There was a ripping noise somewhere. The night his mother got back from work late and his father banged her head on the table. The day he got back home from daycare early-

 _ **Kevin, listen to me!**_

The force of the thought blasted the others out of his head, leaving him trembling and panting. It wasn't angry, but it was solid and firm, as though there was to be no arguing. It folded around him, pushing things out.

 ** _You are NOT your father. She WILL love you when you go back to the house._ **

Kevin swallowed, still feeling lost.

 _I hurt her. I'm just as bad as him-_

 ** _That is NOT true! I never met your father Kevin, but I can tell you that Moira does not see you that way. No one does, and no one will. Your father hurt your mother because there was something wrong with him. You did push her away, yes, but you did it by accident. Did you want to hurt her?_**

 _No!_ Kevin said vehemently.

 _Then it's not the same thing, not at all. All you wanted to do was make the voices stop, and you didn't know how to make that happen._

A fresh sob shook him. No, he hadn't known how to make that happen, and he'd hurt her because of it.

 _I can help you though. I can teach you how to control your gifts._

He lifted his head, feeling the first flicker of pure hope he had in hours.

 _You...you can?_

 _I've done it before,_ Charles said, _And I know I can help you, if you want me to._

Swallowing hard, Kevin looked at the wood splinters around him, fear lacing all around him. He picked up a piece and looked at it for a moment. He'd done that. He'd shattered a tree without even touching it.

Disgusted, he threw the chip away.

 _Please. Please..._

 _Of course_ , Charles said, _But you'll have to go back to your mother first._

Kevin hesitated, once more looking around the clearing.

 _What if I hurt her again?_

 _Don't worry_ , Charles said, _And I'll make sure you don't hurt her. How does that sound?_

Tentatively, Kevin got to his feet.

 _That sounds good._

 _I'm glad to hear it,_ Charles said, _Now, I'm going to leave, just for a second-_

 _NO!_

The force of his own thought caused him to take a step back. Charles couldn't leave. What if he couldn't find his way back? What if Kevin's mother found him, and Charles wasn't there, and what he did was even worse-

 _It will be for a second,_ Charles thought, sounding pained, _Just long enough to tell a student of mine with a similar gift to ours to be ready to help you. Her name's Jean. You'll like her. It's very difficult not to._

Kevin swallowed again, trying to calm his breathing.

 _And then there's other students of mine who can bring you here very quickly, you and your mother,_ Charles said, _But I need to tell them where to go. Otherwise things will be complicated. It will only be for a second, and then I'll be back._

Sitting down, Kevin clutched his ankles, still trying to breathe calmly. He had to do this. He had to be strong.

 _Okay_ , Kevin said, _But, please, be back soon._

 _You have my word._

Suddenly, Kevin started hearing soft voices again and the tears began afresh on his cheeks. No, he didn't want this to be happening, couldn't let this be happening. Not again. Not when he'd had so much hope held out to him, hope that one day he could be in the same room as his mom again.

The voices disappeared quickly, and Kevin sat up.

 _I'm back,_ Charles said.

 _Thank you,_ Kevin answered.

 _I'm a man of my word. Now, let's get you home to your mother, shall we?_

Feeling stronger, Kevin got up. He remembered the route he'd run, even through the haze and self-loathing he'd felt when he'd come that way before. He'd smashed through a few trees on his way, making it easier.

All too soon, he recognized the sidewalk that led up to his house. Kevin paused on the concrete, feeling fear leeching through him. What if Charles had been wrong? What if his mother looked at him, and all she saw was his father, ready to hurt her again?

The door opened and Kevin flinched. His mother was standing there, her jacket from earlier torn and dirt on the cloth. She clutched the door frame, pulling herself up by it. There were a few rust-colored stains, and he thought they were probably blood.

It took him only a second to see that though, because the next thing he knew she had run to him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm sorry mom," he pleaded, "I'm sorry I-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she said, holding him tightly, "Nothing at all. I'm so glad you're safe."


	9. Chapter 9

Moira was still rocking Kevin back and forth on her lawn when when she heard the soft explosion across the street. Looking up, she saw Kurt standing uncertainly a few feet away from her. The air stirred, and Peter stood beside him. He gave her a cheerful thumbs-up.

Kurt made a shy gesture toward her, and Moira sighed. She wished Charles had had time to talk to her about what he planned to do, but she had the feeling there wasn't time. It was clear enough to her why Charles had sent them.

"Come inside," she said.

There was another soft explosion, and she could just make out his outline in her living room. The air stirred beside her, and she knew Peter was there too. Moira picked up Kevin, nearly buckling under his weight. Her arms hurt from where they had scraped the concrete and her legs burned.

Kevin's weight was also a problem. Her son was too old for this sort of thing. Overall, she felt as weak as water, as though she barely had the strength to stand, but she needed to be able to hold him now.

"Mom?" Kevin mumbled, his voice scratchy.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I just...Charles said he thinks he can help me more if I come to him," Kevin said.

Moira startled for a second, still shifting Kevin's weight so she could get a better grip on him.

"Charles is talking to you right now?" she asked.

"He found me," he said.

Although she'd known it had been Charles who had brought her son back to her, the knowledge that he was still there helped banish a little more fear from her heart. She bowed her head, kissing her son on the head once, thankful that he was there, that Charles had been able to find him.

"Then thank him for me," she said.

"He says he can hear you," Kevin mumbled.

She walked inside, closing the door with her toe. Inside Kurt was looking around awkwardly, but Peter was already stretched out on the couch. Kevin's head lolled, and she realized her son was seeing Kurt and Peter for the first time.

His eyes though, were fixed on Kurt. The indigo mutant gave Kevin a shy wave, shrinking from him slightly. Kevin tensed and grabbed her shirt.

"Mom...who's that?" he said.

"He's one of Charles's students," Moira said, "And one of my friends. Same for the other boy."

"I'm in my twenties," said Peter.

She glared at him and he threw his hands up.

"Oh," said Kevin, "Um, okay."

She sat him down on one of the arm chairs and crouched in front of him. Kevin's hands were filthy, and she wondered what he had been doing when she couldn't see him. His face was scratchy from dried tears too, and his hair was in disarray.

Moira reached out and brushed his hair away from his face.

"It looks like we're going to be going to visit Charles in a few minutes," she said, "Just as soon as Kurt and Peter are ready."

She looked up at the two. Peter gave another thumbs up, but Kurt looked down at his feet.

"Ja, just a couple of minutes," he said, "I, uh, ja, I can make zat jump. Ja."

Moira smiled and gestured to the living room.

"Take a seat," she said.

Kurt did so, his tail flicking out of the way just before he sat down on one of the armchairs.

"You have a tail," Kevin said.

Kurt nodded, but still looked nervous. Moira turned back to her son, but she wasn't worried. He'd grown up around pictures of mutants, descriptions of different mutations. There was no judgement in his voice, only curiosity.

"Never seen that before," said Kevin.

"It's rare," Moira said, "At least, I think it is."

"So you're like, extra special," Kevin said, looking at Kurt.

Kurt gave her son a toothy smile, one which Kevin just managed to return.

"I think I'm pretty special too, just for the record," Peter said.

"I like your hair," said Kevin, stifling a yawn.

Moira sighed: she was glad that they were all getting along at least. Brushing off her pants she got up, her mind whirring away. There were a million things to do before they could go, but most of them were impossible to do, mainly the ones which focused around her job.

What she could do was pack a few things, things Kevin might want. Maybe a change or two of clothes. She didn't know how long she would be at the Institute, but she was also fully aware that going MIA would cause more problems than it would stop with things like they were at the CIA.

Right now though, she needed to make sure everyone was well-supplied. She could think more about what to do later. She had to get her son to the help he needed for his fledgling mutation, someone who could show him it wasn't something to run from. She knew she could only do so much herself.

"Kevin, do you want any water?" she asked, "Kurt, Peter, any soda, anything like that?"

"Coke," Peter said, not even looking up.

"Only if you take your feet off my furniture," she said.

Peter rolled his eyes and did so, letting his legs dangle over the side of the couch.

"Um, Coke?" Kurt said.

"Me too," Kevin said.

"You're dehydrated," Moira said automatically, "You need water."

Kevin frowned slightly, but nodded. She forced a smile on her face, wondering if they did, indeed, have any cokes. She just remembered they had a few cans in their pantry when heavy footsteps came down the stairs.

"Moira, I heard voices. Did Kevin- what the hell?"

She clenched her hands tightly and winced. Kurt shrank back at the sight of Levine, and Kevin turned tired eyes toward him, before flickering over to Peter. Peter gave him a thumbs-up. Did he do that with everyone?

"What the-?" Levine said.

"Levine, please come into the kitchen with me," she said, "Now."

"But-"

"Now!"

Levine obeyed reluctantly, still giving Kurt and Peter a suspicious look. Kevin looked up, alarm on his face, but Moira just smiled.

"I need to explain some things to your uncle, and get drinks," she said, "I'll be back out in a few minutes, okay?"

Kevin nodded, and then looked back at Kurt. With his attention turned elsewhere, she grabbed Levine's arm and pulled him into the kitchen.

"So...can you control your tail? Like, make it grab things?" he asked.

Moira shut the door before she could hear more. She turned and looked at Levine, who was glaring at the door.

"Who're they?" he asked.

"They're some of Charles's students, and they've come to pick up Kevin," she said.

His brow furrowed in concentration, and then lit up in anger.

"Charles Xavier?" he hissed.

"Yes, him," Moira said.

"No," said Levine, "Moira, this is a bad idea. I know you can't remember this, but-"

"I can remember everything, thank you very much," Moira said.

Levine stared at her, and she gave a frustrated sigh. She'd hoped that, if she was able to tell him everything, she could do so in a less confrontational manner. It appeared that no, no she couldn't.

"I met him again right before things went down with Nur," she said, "He gave me my memories back."

"Oh, so you remember getting abandoned to your own devices after everything went down?" he asked.

"I remember a man who had lost everything making a bad decision out of fear," Moira said, "I've been there too Levine, and while I'm not happy with what he did, I understand. If it makes it easier, he's not proud of what he did."

"That's not enough," Levine said, "Not after what he did."

She put her hands on her hips, fighting the urge to yell. Kevin was in the next room, and she didn't want to disturb him.

"Levine, did your career get damaged by what happened on Cuba?" she asked, "Did you become an office laughingstock? Because, funny enough, that was me. That was me who had to earn back what should've been mine already. All of that happened to me, and if anyone has a right to be mad, it's me."

"But I can be mad on your behalf, and I am," said Levine, "I am very mad. He doesn't deserve to be given a second chance Moira."

"I get to decide that," Moira said, "Not you. And if you have any better ideas about helping my son that I haven't thought of, then let me know."

Levine fell silent and glared at the ground for a moment. His hands clenched into fists before he looked up.

"I didn't read the warning signs with Joseph," he said, "I'm not gonna stand by and let some other asshole hurt you."

Moira closed her eyes, her anger sapping away. All that was left was her initial determination, as well as a deep and profound sadness. Levine was her oldest friend, and he was frightened for her. It was misdirected fear, but that didn't make it any less real.

"I know you're scared for me," Moira said, "But I trust Charles."

"You did that last time too."

"I know," she said, "But I do. I trust him to take care of my son, to teach him the lessons I can't. I trust him to keep my memories intact, to trust me too."

Her friend looked around, and she shook her head.

"I'm no fool Levine, you know that," she said, "I've already given my word to the wrong man once. One mistake, and while it cost me dear, I was the first one to recognize him for what he was. I don't just see things one way because it's convenient."

"I know," Levine muttered.

"Then trust me in this," she said.

The two of them looked at each other, and Levine took off his glasses. He polished them once, and then put them back on.

"I trust you Moira," he said, "Be careful."

She smiled softly, and reached out for his arm. Her fingers had just brushed his forearm when there was a noise from the next room.

"Hey!" Peter yelled from the next room, "It's gonna be time to go before we get anything to dri- you know what? I'm getting it!"

Moira felt a breeze, and then the sound of cans being opened in the next room reached her ears.

"I think I hate him," Levine said.

"He improves on further acquaintance," Moira said.

Levin made a face.

"Sort of," she admitted.

* * *

Levine watched as Moira packed her bags, making sure she had everything. A lump was growing in his throat for his friend as she worked, counting shirts and socks. He helped when he could, but he knew she was on a mission now.

It was her son, and she was entitled to do what she felt was best. While Levine knew he was ill-equipped to help Kevin, he didn't trust Charles Xavier as far as he could throw him. With damage to his arm from one of his last missions still holding him back, that wasn't going to be a terribly good throw either.

He'd remembered how Charles had acted around Moira for years, how he'd flirted, drawn her in with talk of mutant and human equality, then relegated her to a joke using his mutation. What had happened in Cairo to make her believe he wouldn't do that again? How good was that apology?

"Could you tell Kevin I'm almost ready?" Moira asked, grabbing a toothbrush from the bathroom.

Levine nodded and headed downstairs. Kurt, as Moira had introduced him, was finishing up a soda, his fingers awkwardly holding the can. Peter was talking to Kevin, although the boy seemed like he was listening to something far away.

"She'll be down in a minute," said Levine.

"Got it," Kevin said, still with that far away quality.

Levine looked at Kevin, wondering what was going on in the child's head. He'd never really understood, and he knew he couldn't help. It made him feel stupid and slow, like he was trying desperately to get Moira to pull what was left of her memories together before she went into the conference room.

He couldn't help any of that though. He glanced over at Kurt, still awkwardly balancing the soda, an idea striking him. Maybe there was something he could do.

"You know Charles well?" he asked.

Kurt looked surprised, but nodded.

"Ja. He hast been good to me," Kurt said.

"Good, good," said Levine.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Tell him if he hurts Moira like he did last time, I'll come after him myself," Levine said.

"Vhat?" Kurt said, alarmed.

"All done," Moira said, coming from the next room with a duffle slung over her shoulder, "We'd best get going."

Kurt nodded, still staring at Levine. Patting Kurt once on the shoulder, she walked up and gave Levine a tight hug. He hugged her back.

"Take care of yourself MacTaggert," Levine said, "You and your little guy."

"I always have," replied Moira.

Kevin slid down from the couch, walking towards them with a distant expression.

"He says he's got a room ready for us," he said.

The confidence with which he spoke was a little worrying, but Levine decided not to comment on it. Kevin had always been self-assured. This was just the latest manifestation of it he supposed. With any luck, what had happened that afternoon wouldn't repeat itself.

Kevin hugged him around his legs, and Levine ruffled his hair.

"Bye Uncle Levine," he said.

"Not for too long," said Levine, trying to be cheerful, "You'll be eating pizza with me in no time, just you watch."

The boy managed a thin smile before pulling away. Kurt put the soda on a table and picked Kevin up. He looked so much smaller when people did that.

"I've got him," said Kurt, "Peter?"

"Got her," Peter said, walking behind Moira and putting a hand behind her head.

"I'll call you as soon as I can," Moira said.

Levine nodded, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in his gut.

"Good luck," he said.

She smiled, and then the world blurred. A small puff of smoke filled the air, and he thought he heard the front door slam.

"Good luck," he repeated.


	10. Chapter 10

Mystique leaned against the wall, looking at the assembled X-men with irritation. Where there should've been five, she could only count two. She glanced to her left, pursing her lips. Hank wasn't there either.

"So, did everyone just figure this training session was optional?" she asked, "Because, I have to tell you, I'm actually a little curious."

Scott shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.

"Um, I know the professor wanted Jean for something," he said, "Something about her mutation. She wasn't too clear before she ran upstairs."

"How long ago was that?" asked Mystique.

"Maybe ten minutes ago?" Scott said, "I mean, we were walking down here, and she just said she needed to go."

"Did she tell Charles I wanted her down here?" she asked.

The teen scratched the back of his neck. She already knew the answer before he spoke.

"I didn't ask her," he said.

Good grief. Hadn't Alex told him that asking questions was important? She bit her tongue, immediately guilty for the thought.

"Perhaps it is something to do with controlling it?" asked Storm, "Or perhaps a school-related matter?"

"There's school time and then there's training time, and Charles knew damn well this was training time," said Mystique, "Anyone got any ideas about where Kurt and Peter are?"

It was Storm's turn to look guilty. Mystique crossed her arms and cocked her head at the young girl. It unnerved her how much hero worship Storm had for her, but it was also useful when she wanted to know something.

"Kurt told me the professor needed him," Storm said.

Mystique threw her hands in the air.

"Of course," she said, "Of course. Both of you, start your warm-ups. I'm going to see what's so damn important that half the X-men needed to go and deal with it."

She turned around, striding down the hall, her face scrunched up in frustration. There couldn't be a combat emergency, otherwise she would've been told. So this, this was something else. Something she'd been left out of the loop on.

Honestly, would it hurt for Charles to let her train the X-men her own way? Yes, he had his methods, and she knew he could stop simulations or give pointers, but tonight was supposed to be her session.

Why was he doing this? She'd agreed to stay, hadn't she? She'd agreed to do what he wanted, to help him in his quest. What more did he want from her? Why was he treating her like she was some sort of child? Why wasn't he telling her when he pulled her trainees out of training , sending them God knows where to do God knows what? Taking her son without asking her-

 _He doesn't know he's your son._

She leaned against one of the walls, her fingers pressed tightly against the metal. The thought was insidious, but still there. Charles knew Kurt was her son. He had to know. He had to know that she would be concerned about his welfare. He had to know that she had a right-

 _Yes, when you've never told him, never acknowledged it. Kurt doesn't even know. That's quite fair to expect all that of him, isn't it?_

She'd seen the look in his eyes when they talked about him-

 _He suspects he's your son. He wants him to be your son. He wants you to tell him. But he knows Kurt is his student. What do you think he'll do?_

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she looked quickly around the corridor, trying not to hear the little voice in her head. She was on the student level now, and she knew it wouldn't do to have anyone see her like this. She pulled herself up, trying to look in control, trying to get angry instead of getting sad. If she ever stopped to look behind, then she might drown.

She turned a corner and nearly ran into Hank. He stopped at the last minute, straightening a precariously-perched pile of blankets and what looked like water bottles. He looked surprised to see her, and she glared at him.

"And where have you been?" she asked.

"Getting ready," he said.

She snorted.

"Not for the training session you haven't," she said.

"Oh," Hank said.

He glanced down at his watch.

"Yeah, it is eight, isn't it?" he said.

The total absentmindedness of the comment made her want to throttle him. He looked back up at her and finished balancing the blankets.

"Alright," he said, "I'll get down there in a couple of minutes."

For a few heartbeats, all she could do was gape as he walked past her. A few minutes? No apology? She turned around and stormed after him, surprised at how far he'd gotten in such a small amount of time. He was really hurrying, wasn't he?

"No," she said, finally drawing level, "I've been waiting for fifteen minutes Hank! Where have you been?"

"Something came up," he said, "Something big."

"Big enough for Jean and Kurt and Peter?" she snapped.

"Yes, exactly."

Hank wasn't even looking at her, and it just fanned the flames of her anger. He was looking at her so little lately, as if he was having difficulty doing so. She gritted her teeth and looked around, realizing that they were almost on the second story of the school now.

"What's so big exactly?" she said.

"Keep your voice down," said Hank.

He turned into the hall where her brother's office was, and she had to resist the urge to yell at him. She had to be stronger than this.

"Tell me what's going on," she said.

"In a minute!" Hank snapped, "Can't you tell it's urgent? Can't you tell it's important if we're too busy to say something right this second?"

The concentration in his voice brought her up short. Hank didn't seem to notice she'd stopped walking before he kicked off his shoe and used his foot to open the door to her brother's office. Mystique thought she caught a flash of red hair inside before the door closed again. Jean.

There was a soft explosion next to her and, suddenly, Kurt was right next to her, holding a young child. He gave her a crooked grin before shifting the boy, trying to give him a better view of the hall.

"Ve are here Kevin!" Kurt said cheerfully.

Kevin peeked out from where he'd buried his head. Mystique stared as the child began looking around, eyes lidded with exhaustion. His eyes focused on her and he frowned, cocking his head to the side.

"Are you two related?" he asked.

The question made her want to choke. She swallowed once, searching for something to say that wouldn't feel like death, but still not alert Kurt.

"Oh, nein," Kurt said, "Nein."

Mystique took a deep breath, trying to keep from crying. It would work. She was so good at holding in tears.

"Okay," yawned Kevin, "Sorry Miss."

She stared, torn between saying something curt and not saying anything at all. Seconds later there was a blur though, and she saw Peter appear. He stopped next to Kurt, removing his hand from behind Moira's head.

Moira looked slightly dazed, but all Mystique could feel was confusion. What on earth was going on? She saw the child reach for Moira, and she took him unquestioningly into her arms. As she did, Mystique noticed the duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

The door opened and Hank peeped out. He smiled and gestured into the room.

"Charles is waiting for you," he said, "So's Jean."

Moira nodded gratefully, all but stumbling toward the doors. She looked like she was about to keel over any second, as though the energy had been sapped out of her. Kurt gave one more cheerful wave before they entered the room, Hank closing the doors behind him.

"Alright, what the hell's going on?" Mystique demanded.

* * *

Jean had manged to move some extra couches into his office by the time Moira and Kevin arrived. She was getting more confident using her powers, although she'd always been fairly practical in terms of her telekinesis.

Blankets were laid out on them in case anyone was cold, and to provide extra cushion. They'd even added water in case they were dehydrated. Charles wanted to create a good environment for them. He knew how vital these first few hours would be for Kevin.

Charles looked up when Moira came in, and felt instant dismay. She looked like death warmed over, the fear of the past few hours having obviously taken their toll on her. She managed to smile at him as Kevin turned in her arms.

"Charles?" he asked.

"Yes," Charles said, "It's a pleasure to meet you in person."

Kevin blinked at him as Moira sat down, putting her son next to her. Although he'd already seen the boy in a picture, he found himself taking a closer look. A small photograph, even if it was in color, was no match for actually seeing the person.

Charles saw so much of Moira in his face, in his eyes. He ignored the features that had clearly come from the boy's father. Kevin had said he didn't want anything to do with him. Charles was only too happy to indulge that wish.

Kevin blinked at him again before shaking his head.

"You sounded like you had hair," he said.

"Kevin," Moira said.

Feeling slightly self-conscious, Charles ran his hand over his head.

"Yes, it is a rather new addition, I'll grant you that," he said, "Surprises me every single time I look in the mirror."

Kevin smiled and then looked at Jean, his expression a little more curious. He was already unscrewing the lid on a water bottle.

"I think Charles mentioned you," he said, "You're like me, right?"

Jean gave a shy smile and then levitated a nearby book into her hands. From where he was, Charles could see Kevin smile before he took a drink of water.

 _So it can be used for normal things._

 _Yes,_ Charles said, _It can._

 _I never have to pick up anything from the floor now_ , Jean chimed in, her thoughts soft, still with that hint of shyness.

"Mom, Jean doesn't have to pick up her room," said Kevin.

Moira frowned, looking puzzled. Charles chuckled.

 _That's not what she meant,_ Charles said, broadening his reach so Moira could be included, _It just means she doesn't have to bend over to pick things up. We can teach you how to control that._

 _I'd like that,_ Kevin said, _How soon can I learn? Can I learn before tomorrow?_

 _It's not quite that simple_ , Jean said.

 _And your bedtime's in less than an hour,_ Moira added.

Her son pouted, but Charles could feel the relief pouring off him in waves. This was normal. This was good. This was nothing like the last few hours had been. If this conversation hadn't been happening inside their heads, then maybe it would be entirely normal.

 _But I can help install blocks inside your head,_ Charles said, _At least for tonight. You'll have to make your own soon, but I think there's been quite enough going on tonight already. You look tired._

 _I'm not,_ Kevin insisted, _I want to learn more. I want to beat this._

His comment made Charles's heart sink, but Moira put a hand on Kevin's shoulder.

 _You don't need to beat anything,_ she thought, _There's nothing wrong with the way you are right now. You just need to learn to get comfortable with it._

Her son looked skeptical, but he nodded. Charles made a motion to Jean, and, together, they started walling off Kevin's mind, leaving doors only open to themselves. They might need to get in if there was an emergency. If Kevin had been a little more older, a little more powerful, then he doubted this would work. It hadn't lasted long for Jean after all.

But, for now, it would have to do. It was exhausting Charles to keep himself in Kevin's mind for as long as he did, and he knew that the boy was still frightened. Having Jean help him meant that the walls would be constructed faster, and he knew it was better for her to exercise her gift. She'd expressed a desire to become a teacher after all, and this was something she might have to know.

"There," Charles said, "All good."

Kevin smiled, and Charles could once again feel relief pouring off him in waves.

"Thank you Charles," he said.

"Mr. Charles might be better," Moira said.

"No, don't worry about it," said Charles.

Jean got up, smiling a small, satisfied smile.

"Come on," she said, "I'll show you to your rooms."

Kevin jumped off the bed, looking around eagerly and cheerfully. The water from the bottle sloshed slightly onto his shirt but he didn't seem to notice. Moira moved a little slower. She looked after her son and Jean, pausing by Charles for a moment. Her eyes locked with his, and he offered her a smile.

In return she reached out, gently tracing his cheek with her fingers.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He swallowed and nodded. Moira removed her hand, giving him one last look before she followed her son.


	11. Chapter 11

When Kevin woke up, he knew something was wrong. The bed smelt starchy, which definitely wasn't a smell he'd smell in his uncle's home. His mother always tried to keep things neat, but she used something that smelt a little softer.

He opened his eyes, taking in the unfamiliar room. Kevin rubbed his eyes for a minute, looking at his mother lying in a bed next to his, asleep on top of the covers and in her clothes from the day before.

Although it wasn't an unusual sight, it was an unfamiliar placement, and an unusual place. Slowly, Kevin drew his legs up to his chest. That had all really happened. The voices, hurting his mom, Charles, flickering across the countryside, the three-way, silent conversation.

Now he was here. He laid his head on the top of his knees, feeling the sheet against his cheek. It was cool and nice, but the whole room felt distinctly unlived in. Was this the guest bedroom? Did they have guest bedrooms here?

No, Charles had said this was a school. He'd heard of boarding schools. Maybe they just had a lot of different bedrooms for when people came unexpectedly. Or when they moved them across state lines. Something like that.

Feeling odd, he slipped out of his bed and put his feet onto the wood floor. It was sanded down nicely, no splinters. He glanced at his mother, but she looked nice and peaceful right now. He'd already made things complicated for her. He could let her sleep. Kevin knew she didn't do much of that.

So he picked up his jacket and peeked outside the room. He wanted to know if Charles was nearby. The whole night had gone by in a blur. Perhaps he could ask someone? Find out where he was that way?

 _I can hear you just fine you know._

Kevin jumped, nearly hitting his arm against the door frame.

 _Sorry._

 _You can hear me?_ asked Kevin.

 _Well, I did put blocks in your mind,_ Charles said, sounding vaguely amused, _It's not too much effort once I let it go, but when you woke up it felt a little bit like a faint tap on the door. I expect Jean can feel the same, but she's busy downstairs right now, and you certainly didn't just think her name._

 _Oh._

Kevin looked in the hallway, worrying his lip.

 _If it makes you uncomfortable, well, it shouldn't be for too much longer,_ Charles said, Y _ou'll be able to keep other people's voices out by yourself soon. I don't mean to intrude-_

 _No, it's okay,_ Kevin said quickly, _Just I..._

He bit down on his lip a little harder.

 _I just didn't want to bug you_ , he said.

In the silence that followed, he could almost see Charles raise his eyebrows.

 _Bug me?_

 _I mean, you've got stuff to do_ , said Kevin, _You've got a school. You're busy. Like mom, you know. So...I mean, I don't know you that well, and after all the stuff you did for me last night-_

 _Kevin, let me stop you before this goes too much further._

He put one of his hands out, holding onto the door and looking at the ground.

 _Why...why do you think asking for help, or even talking would bug me?_ asked Charles, G _ranted, I am busy, and I do have a lot to do, but I'm a teacher. If I can't make time for my students, then I'm not much of a teacher, am I?_

 _You'd be like most of the teachers I've met,_ Kevin said.

Immediately he clamped his hand on his forehead. He hadn't meant to say that. But talking through thoughts wasn't like talking with words. You couldn't think before you spoke, because thinking was speaking now.

To his surprise, he heard Charles chuckle in his thoughts.

 _You don't like your teacher much, do you?_ he asked.

 _I...he's stupid,_ Kevin settled on.

Any other word would be a lie. Besides, maybe Charles would understand.

 _So descriptive. Come now._

 _He just keeps trying to bother my mom,_ said Kevin.

 _Bother? Bother...how?_

There was a tinge of something in the thought, some emotion that seemed jumbled with the words.

 _Just...saying stuff about me_ , Kevin said, _Asking about stuff. Me. Home. You know, stuff._

He hoped it would be enough for Charles. He'd probably already told him too much.

 _Alright_ , Charles said, _Alright. But, before we go too much further, you should probably go back inside. Your mother's asleep, isn't she?_

 _Last I saw._

 _Think about how upset she might be if she wakes up and you're not there._

Kevin jumped up and scampered back into the room, shutting the door as quickly and quietly as he could.

 _I didn't mean to scare you._

 _Sorry, I just, I don't want to worry her again,_ Kevin said.

 _I understand about that,_ said Charles _, But, trust me Kevin, she just wants to make sure you're alright. She loves you very much. Never doubt that._

 _You know a lot about her, huh?_ asked Kevin, looking over at his still-sleeping mother.

 _Well...I...well, some,_ Charles said, S _he's a good woman. You might not understand just how amazing she is now Kevin-_

 _I do._

 _Good,_ said Charles, _Then you'll understand how much she cares. It's one of her most remarkable qualities._

Kevin nodded, shrugging off his jacket. He walked over to his duffle bag and began looking for something to wear. He had no idea what his mother had packed for them, he'd been too distracted by everything else to ask, but he knew there'd be something.

Underneath a bag of toothbrushes, toothpaste and floss he found a yellow polo and a pair of jeans.

 _Are we gonna have time to talk today?_ he asked, _Like, in person?_

 _Of course. I have an open morning this morning,_ Charles said, _I mostly have advanced classes, and we don't have too many students in those._

 _When?_ asked Kevin.

 _As soon as your mother wakes_ , Charles said.

 _Can you wake her up?_ Kevin asked, _I mean, can you tell if she's awake? I'd like her to rest, but if she's already up, then that would be great._

 _No, I don't know if she's awake,_ laughed Charles, _It's rude to use your gifts without permission._

 _Oh_ , said Kevin.

He sat back down on the floor, clutching his clothes.

 _It's kind of like eavesdropping, right?_ he asked, _I mean, that's the only thing I can really compare it to, but it's not eavesdropping. It's..._

A flush crept up the back of his neck and he looked at his clothes, embarrassed.

 _It's worse, isn't it?_

 _In some ways, yes,_ Charles said, _But, Kevin, sometimes we can't help it, like we can't help walking in on a conversation. It's a little complicated, but you'll learn soon enough. Use your gifts with others only with their permission, or when you're trying to protect yourself._

 _From what?_ asked Kevin.

Unbidden, the image of his father hurting his mother came into his head. He stamped it down as quickly as possible, but the thought occurred that, if his mother had his powers, his father would've never been able to hurt her. If Kevin had had these powers when he was younger, than his father wouldn't have been able to hurt her either.

A small, nagging wish came, that he'd been able to do this when he was younger. His father wouldn't have been able to lay a finger on her. He wouldn't have been able to do a lot of things. Maybe he would've even been able to get him out of their lives, avoid all those terrible courtrooms and people in stuffy suits.

He clutched his clothes, hopeful that Charles hadn't heard any of his thoughts. He hadn't said anything though, so maybe he'd been able to keep this secret.

 _I get it_ , Kevin said.

 _Alright,_ said Charles, _Now, I'll see you both soon. I think breakfast this morning is pancakes. Do you like those?_

Charles seemed uncertain, almost as though he wanted him to be pleased. Kevin just smiled.

 _Pancakes are good,_ he said.

 _Good,_ Charles said, _Now I, oh, of all the-_

There was a pause, and Kevin cocked his head. When Charles spoke again it sounded like a frustrated sigh.

 _Excuse me_ , he said, _It appears there's something I have to attend to. I'll talk to you later._

 _Okay_ , Kevin said, confused.

A feeling of emptiness, of quiet, stole over him, and he realized Charles was gone. He frowned. What had made him leave?

* * *

"Raven, now is not the time," Charles said, moving a book on his desk, trying to look busy.

"No, last night wasn't the time," she said, "That's why I backed off. But what was that all about exactly? All Hank would say is that we have a new student, and he was having a telepathic episode, but that was definitely Moira. What was that, her nephew?"

"Her son," Charles said.

He put his papers to the side and rested his arms on the table, splaying out his fingers. Raven was looking at him in mild surprise, but it was clear that she expected him to continue. He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"He manifested his mutation yesterday," said Charles, "I arranged for him to be brought to the Institute, along with his mother."

"And it was so urgent you needed him brought to the school immediately?" asked Raven, "Without telling anyone? Other than Hank I mean."

"He was there when I got the phone call," Charles said, "And it was urgent. Raven, he's not just a telepath. Telekinetic too. He was frightened, he was lost...he needed to come somewhere that understood him."

"And his mother couldn't take care of him for one night?" Raven said.

Her tone was grating on him, he'd had a long night, but he wanted to be gentle. He didn't want this to escalate into another argument.

"He'd run away," said Charles, "When he manifested, well, it looks like he threw her across the block. Doing that to a loved one...it's frightening. He was in pain. He needed to be found before he hurt himself, or others."

"That bad, huh?" asked Raven.

She sat down, her expression softening slightly. Charles nodded, rubbing his temples again.

"Kevin has a great deal of untapped power," he said, "Trees were shattering around him when we spoke. I don't think he realizes just how uncommon this is. He was around so many people, and the more voices he heard, the more frightened and frustrated he became."

He closed his eyes, thinking about that moment when he'd made contact with Kevin's mind. The type fear was familiar, but the specific fears brought him back to his own childhood. And Kevin, he had just wanted to go back home, for things to be safe.

"When I reached out to him, it felt so familiar," he said, "Just like it did with Jean. All these voices pressing in on you, tugging at your attention until you barely know where you end and they begin..."

He shook his head.

"That kind of gift needs balance, needs support," he said, "I needed to get him somewhere safe, and he couldn't bear to be separated from his mother."

"Him?" asked Raven, "Or you?"

Charles had to breathe in deeply, trying to calm the retort he wanted to give. His sister shrugged and looked over her shoulder, thinking.

"What does his father think of all this?" Raven asked.

"He's a non-factor."

"He's dead?" asked Raven.

"They're divorced," Charles said.

His sister made a face.

"Then he's not a non-factor," she said.

"They're divorced," said Charles.

It wasn't his place to tell her more. The abuse she'd received at Joseph's hands made him want to scream, make threats that he knew better to follow through with. However, it was her business. It was an intimate thing, and she had trusted him enough to share it with him.

But she had chosen to tell him. She hadn't chosen to tell Raven.

"He'll still want to know where his son is," said Raven, "And what about her job? The CIA are going to wonder where she went. Charles, you need to think about this logically. You can't have them both here."

"I understand your concerns. But the father," Charles said, "is a non-factor. We'll look into what to do about the CIA when they contact her."

Raven looked at him for a moment, her jaw tightening. She got up, tilting her chin up angrily.

"So it's still her first, isn't it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever Charles," she said, "I've got work to do."

"Raven-"

With a brisk wave she left the room, not looking back. Charles ran his hand over his head again, frustrated.


	12. Chapter 12

Moira walked up to Charles's office, half tugged by Kevin. She still felt groggy, and it had been a long time since she had felt this tired after a good night's sleep. What was wrong with her? Had she not had enough coffee?

She shook her head blearily as they moved down the hallway. In the very least, the exhaustion in her voice had helped convince her boss she'd come down with a stomach bug. He'd been reluctant to let her take off a few days with everything that was going on, but she'd listed off enough symptoms not only to convince him, but to make him think it was contagious.

It was unpleasant to lie to a man who had stuck up for her only a few days ago, but her son came first. He tugged on her hand again, yanking her along even faster, before knocking on the door of Charles's office. In contrast to her, he seemed like a little bundle of energy, his eyes darting around the room. It had been a long time since she'd seen him be this excited about anything.

Jean opened the door, smiling at the two of them.

"Morning Miss Jean!" Kevin said.

"Just Jean," said Jean, "I'm not that old."

"You're older than me," said Kevin.

"But not that old," Jean said.

She opened the door. Charles was seated by one of the couches, smiling that same, comfortable smile she had always associated with him. It was a look that seemed to inspire confidence, that this was a man who cared and would help.

Kevin practically skipped to the couch, swinging his legs back and forth on the edge of the sofa. Moira sank down next to him, and she saw Charles's concerned expression. She managed a weak smile, still blinking back some tiredness.

Jean sat down next to Charles, clasping her hands in her lap.

"So, ready to start again?" asked Charles.

"Yeah," said Kevin.

He picked up Moira's hand, clasping it tightly. She could almost feel him trembling, whether from excitement or nerves, she couldn't tell.

"Now, I'm going to teach you how to build your own blocks," said Charles, "They'll start out fairly weak, being able to shut out most thoughts. It'll be a little bit like a conversation happening in the next room unless you concentrate."

He made a gesture with his hand.

"But, as time goes on, you'll have to strengthen them," he said, "A little each day so that they keep out as much of what you don't want to hear as you can."

"I can't hear anything now," said Kevin, "So why do I have to do this?"

Charles sighed. She had the feeling that something unpleasant was coming.

"Those blocks won't last forever," said Charles, "Not unless Jean and I keep building them again and again."

"Why can't you?" asked Kevin.

Jean bit her lip before tentatively reaching out to Kevin's arm. Her son looked at Jean then, blinking and confused.

"Because it's not good for the mind to have someone else in it all the time," she said, "It's just not healthy. The professor tried to help me that way for the first few days, build me up very gradually so I could be strong on my own, but, after a day or two, it started hurting both of us."

Her son gripped her hand tighter.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I wouldn't want you getting hurt."

"And we wouldn't want you getting hurt," Charles said, "It's just better if we allow you to try and control this yourself. And, I know it might not seem this way right now, but it will make you feel better too."

Kevin looked uncertain, and Moira leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

"You can trust Charles," she said, "He knows what he's talking about."

"I know," said Kevin.

He kicked out his feet a few more times. Moira could tell he was thinking, so she turned to Charles, who had that same expression of warm sympathy he always seemed to have when someone was in pain. It didn't make it any less sincere: just heartbreaking that he felt the same way every time someone else was hurting no matter who they were.

"But are you two just going to be helping him with his telepathy?" she asked.

"For now," Charles said, glancing between Moira and Kevin, "We'll be focusing on your telepathy for the next few days, since that seems to be the most immediate gift. After that we'll work on moving things. You only seem to move things when you're in distress, and I would hope you won't be experiencing that in my school."

Kevin nodded, and clenched her hand one more time.

"We can start," he said.

Charles moved a little closer, his hands pushing the wheelchair further forward. Even Jean seemed to lean toward them. It seemed that, whatever he'd taught Jean about what was going to happen next, he'd given her even the most minute details.

"Now, you're going to be very tired when this happens," said Charles, "You may even need a nap."

"I feel fine," said Kevin, "Really good actually."

"You say that right now," said Jean, "All I wanted to do after I started this was have a lie-down and have people bring me chocolate."

"Which, as I recall," Charles said, "We did. I drew the line at pie though."

"But not at ice cream," Jean said.

Her son started loosening his grip as he looked at her.

"Can I have ice cream?" he asked.

"Of course," Moira said, "It's not every day you do something like this after all. It'll be like when you got your tonsils removed."

"I liked that," Kevin said thoughtfully, "It didn't really hurt, and there was a lot of ice cream."

Suddenly, he straightened, looking a little more nervous.

"This isn't going to hurt, is it?" he asked.

"It shouldn't," said Charles.

His eyes flickered up, meeting hers.

"We're going to be very careful," he said.

Moira nodded, resisting the urge to clench Kevin's hand. He seemed comfortable. The last thing he needed was his mother twisting his hand off because she was worried about him. That wouldn't help anyone.

"You're going to stay with me, aren't you mom?"

The question threw her off-guard, and then she realized Kevin was looking up at her with pleading eyes. She just smiled.

"Of course," she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Okay," Kevin said.

With a final squeeze of her hand, Kevin nodded at Charles.

"Now then," Charles said, reaching out gently and putting his hands on either side of Kevin's head, "Let's start."

All three of them closed their eyes. Moira held her breath, watching. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Every now and then she could see Jean's lips part or Charles's brow furrow. Her heart would stop when, on occasion, she would feel Kevin grip her hand tighter.

It was never for very long, but it was still frightening. What was happening to make her son seek comfort? She reached out and brushed some hairs from his face. The last thing Moira wanted to do was break his concentration, but he didn't even seem to notice what she'd done.

Time continued its march. If Moira were any less worried, she'd have fallen asleep. But she wasn't, and so she couldn't. She couldn't help either though, could only sit and watch as her son, another child, and the man she was falling for all over again toiled in a place she couldn't reach.

Jean's eyes were the first to open. Moira looked over at her, and Jean gave her an encouraging smile. She then stumbled away from her chair, grasping a glass of water Moira hadn't even noticed was there. When had that arrived?

Kevin and Charles opened their eyes at the same time. Kevin's fluttered seconds later, and he leaned onto her side, sighing softly.

"Kevin?" she asked.

"He's very tired," Charles said, "He was doing most of the work in there. Jean and I...we were more of a guiding force."

"I just woke up," murmured Kevin.

"And you're going back to bed," said Moira, "You heard Charles."

"Even I think I'm going to take a nap," said Jean, "It's...a little disorienting, what we did."

"I've cleared your afternoon," Charles said.

"Thank you, but there's a test I want to take," she said.

"Always conscientious," said Charles.

Jean smiled, and Moira couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the young girl. They didn't know each other that well, and whatever had just happened, it seemed to have taken a lot out of her. Yet, she seemed perfectly happy to assist in the process, to stand by and assist.

"Thank you," Moira said.

"It's what others did for me," Jean said.

The girl gave Charles a brief, grateful look. Moira wondered what that meeting must have been like, two telepaths, meeting for the first time. How had Jean felt, meeting someone almost exactly like her? Had she warmed to Charles as soon as Kevin seemed to be warming to him? Had he helped her see her gift as something special, something that didn't have to be frightening?

Kevin slumped next to her, and Moira put her arm around him, trying to keep him upright. He yawned, and she gathered him in her arms. Moira still felt groggy and weak, but Kevin was almost dead on his feet. She doubted he'd stay awake long enough to even be put in bed.

"Moira," Charles said softly, "Once you've put Kevin to bed, maybe you could return? There are a few things we need to discuss."

Even though he was probably right, she hesitated. Kevin, still awake enough to hear, just snuggled closer.

"I'll be fine mom," he mumbled, "Just gotta rest. You talk about grown-up stuff."

She laughed and nodded at Charles. Jean waved her hand, opening the door for the two of them. Their rooms weren't too far down the hall, and she was able to tuck him in fairly soon. He managed another wispy smile before putting his head down on the pillow.

"It's quiet mom," he whispered, "And I did that. Me this time."

Warmth spread through her, and she leaned over, kissing him on his forehead. He was snoring softly before she pulled away.

"Yes," she said, "Yes you did."

Straightening up, she left the room, returning to the office. Jean was already gone by the time she came back, but Charles remained. She closed the door gently behind her, and he turned at the sound of the click.

"Thank you," she said.

"He's still got some ways to go," said Charles.

She shook her head, sinking down onto the sofa.

"You saw him yesterday," she said, "This seems like a miracle. He told me it was quiet Charles. You must know just how much something like that means to him."

Charles nodded. He hesitated, but then used his arms to pull himself out of the wheelchair and onto the couch next to her. One of his hands gently cupped her cheek, his thumb passing briefly over her jawbone.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"Is this the important thing you wanted to discuss?" she asked.

"Honestly?" he said, "Yes."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"Just tired," she said, "It's just, with everything that's been happening-"

"No, I quite understand," he said, "But, you know that you can rest here, don't you?"

She looked into his eyes, sparkling with compassion and love. Moira leaned in, kissing him gently on the lips. He breathed out against her skin, and she let her hand slide down to his chest, resting there. He was so warm.

"Yes Charles," she whispered, kissing his throat, "Yes I do."


	13. Chapter 13

Jean got up, putting down her pencil as she walked to the teacher's desk. Her test was neatly done, and she knew she'd finished early. The teacher gave her a quick nod as she laid the test down in the in tray, walking back to her desk.

When she sat down, she looked over at Scott. He was two desks over, his face scrunched up in concentration. She saw him hesitate before he rubbed out an answer furiously, running one of his hands through his hair.

Suddenly, he looked up, and Jean met his ruby quartz gaze. She fought to keep from blushing and gave him an encouraging smile. In return, he gave her a helpless shrug, but the grin on his face showed her he wasn't taking it too much to heart. AT least, that was what she hoped.

Once he looked down, Jean looked away, choosing instead to gaze out the window. It was so peaceful out today, and she wondered if, just maybe, she could convince Scott to come outside to do their homework. He was the kind of person who favored air conditioning, but perhaps they could sit by the lake.

A bell shattered her thoughts and she looked over. She could see Scott clench his fist in frustration, but he grabbed his test anyway and walked up. Their teacher took it with barely a look at him as she gathered up the rest of their tests.

He returned to his desk, his hands shoved in his pockets, as everyone else gathered their things and started to leave. Jean got up, looking over at him and, once again, brushing away any possible lint on her skirt.

Scott picked up his backpack and walked over, only one strap slung over his shoulder.

"You didn't finish?" she asked.

"Nah," he said.

"How much?"

"Last...five questions," he said, "You know, some short answer. One essay."

Jean knew her dismay showed on her face. He grinned quickly, the expression jostling his glasses a little.

"I'll get it next time though. No biggie," he said. "Tests are only like, half our grade, right?"

"Scott," Jean said.

She put one of her books on top of the other, trying to figure out how best to word what she wanted to say.

"If you need me to tutor you," she said, "I can do it."

Scott flushed and Jean bit the inside of her cheek. He swallowed once before looking out the window.

"I'm doing that bad, huh?" he asked.

"No, not that bad," said Jean, "Just, um, well."

She shrugged.

"Just...not good?" she suggested.

"Yeah, same thing Jean," he said.

He leaned on the desk next to her. By now the rest of the students had filed out, their teacher close on their heels. She was busy thinking about her next class on the other side of the Institute. Jean didn't even need to be a telepath to know that.

Scott though, Scott was different. What was he thinking? Was he offended by her offer? She hoped it wasn't because she was a girl. Jean knew she was clever and, while she didn't necessarily think that meant she was smarter than anyone else, she knew she was better at homework and tests than most people.

Or maybe she'd embarrassed him by pointing out how poorly he was doing. She hoped not.

"You'd have time to do that?"

The question caught her off guard. She wrestled for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant.

"You know, with Calvin," said Scott, "I know you're helping him out."

"No I'm not," Jean said, trying to think if she knew anyone by that name.

"Then what was yesterday about?" he asked.

For a moment, she still didn't know what he was talking about. Then she frowned.

"Kevin," Jean corrected.

He shrugged, and she rolled her eyes. She finished picking up the last of her books, clenching them to her chest. Scott had offered to carry them once for her, but she'd declined. Not because she didn't think the gesture was sweet, but she liked holding them for herself.

Jean had expected Scott to take offense, but he'd just smiled and nodded. Had he understood why she'd said no? He'd smiled and said he did, not judging her. She'd been tempted to peek into his mind, to see exactly why he hadn't taken offense, and she'd stopped at the last minute.

There was something delightful about Scott's mind, something she couldn't quite manage to shake. Jean had felt it when she'd brushed up against it for the first time in the hall. She'd felt it in the scattered thoughts she'd had from him, in his grief for his brother.

Ever since her mutation had flared to life, Jean had been in the mind of many people, both mutants and non-mutants. She'd found peace when the Professor had entered her mind, peace when he had let her into his outer defenses.

Scott was peace too, but in a different way. There was something warm there, something she couldn't quite grasp but wanted to bathe in. His mind was tempting, and every time he smiled at her, she wanted to go in, to see what caused him to smile, and maybe make him do it again.

She hadn't talked to the Professor about it, although she knew she should. Was there any chance he'd understand? It wasn't a desire to see other people's secrets, not really. She knew that was wrong, and knew better than to indulge.

No, this was plunging into a mind for a sensation. For the other person's feelings. It was worse than just casually going in there and reading thoughts. It was immersive, and, as far as she knew, 100 percent selfish. People didn't like other people in their heads after all. Even Scott had said it when they first met.

"Okay, Kevin," said Scott, "I know you're helping him out."

He scratched the back of his neck.

"How's that going anyway?" he asked.

"Good," Jean said, "He's young, and he's nervous, but he's also very curious. Very trusting. He came here soon after his gift manifested, so, I think, I mean, well."

She shrugged, clutching the books to her chest.

"I think that'll help," she said.

"Is it like, the earlier the better?" asked Scott.

Jean thought back to her own experience. By the time Charles discovered her, she'd had her gift for seven months. Every night, her parents woke up to the sound of her screaming, the house shaking slightly. Their neighbors had thought they were on a fault line.

"It can't hurt," she said, "But why do you think I'll be too busy? Do you think I'm in a bunch of clubs or something?"

"Well, I can think of one," said Scott.

She shook her head.

"I'm not thinking about that," she said, "I don't have a lot of other activities to juggle. All of my friends...well...we're all limited to the nights when we can go out."

"Guess you're right," Scott said.

He tugged on the strap of his backpack.

"Yeah," he said, "Thanks for offering. I need to make this work."

"What do you mean?" asked Jean.

Scott bit his lip for a minute, and then sighed.

"I need to make something of myself Jean," he said.

Her heart ached at his words. She reached out to him in a half abortive gesture, one that he saw. Jean looked down before tilting her head to meet his eyes.

"You shouldn't think so badly of yourself," she said.

He opened his mouth but, a second later, a soft explosion filled the back of the room. They both jumped, and Scott let out a frustrated breath.

"Could you give us some warning next time Kurt?" he asked.

"How?" asked Kurt, "Vant me to teleport next to you to tell you und zen teleport avay und back?"

Jean laughed as Kurt jumped off one of the desks. Kurt was still painfully shy at times, especially around strangers, but there were other times when he could be as funny as Peter. She supposed it was one of the reasons the two seemed to get along so well.

At least, right up until Peter said some of his more offensive words. She had the feeling that, up until recently, Kurt had lived a fairly sheltered life when it came to bad language. Peter, clearly, had not.

"Mystique vants us downstairs," Kurt said, "She said zat ve must haf extra training after last night."

Scott groaned.

"Why do I have to get punished?" he asked, "I actually went to the session."

Kurt shrugged.

"I do not know, but she is qvite angry," said Kurt, "I do not vant to keep her waiting."

Looking nervous, he held out his hands.

"Shall ve?" he asked.

Scott sighed but grabbed Kurt's forearm, as did Jean. He gave a long-suffering look to Jean, who could only smile back before black smoke filled their vision.

* * *

Charles gently reached out, brushing Moira's hair away from her face. It seemed like she'd only just put her head on his shoulder, and she was already asleep. He could tell that, even after a full night's sleep, she had been pushed past her limits. And yet, she was still insisting on accompanying her son to the first official attempt at teaching her son what to do with his powers.

She'd been asleep for a while before he'd dared to reach out and touch her face. The last thing Charles had wanted to do was wake her. As it was, his fingertips barely grazed her cheek. She was so beautiful. He'd meant it when he'd told Hank she hadn't aged a day.

Instead, it seemed as though she was only becoming stronger. He'd remembered her assertiveness, something he'd been faced with time and again when they were still in their twenties. She'd held a defiant confidence then but, now, it was much more matter-of-fact.

She snuggled deeper into his arm, and he let out a low breath. God, it had been years since he'd done this with anyone. Again though, Moira had been special, was special, would be special. He knew then, as he knew when he'd reached for her in Cairo to give her memories back, that there would never be anyone else like her.

And he needed that thought to give him courage, because he knew what was coming next. If he'd been a little smarter than this pain and anxiety would've been over decades ago. But, of course, one thing Logan had taught him was that, when a second chance came, you took it.

Her eyelids opened slowly and he paused, blinking. How had he woken her? He'd been trying so hard not to disturb her, but it appeared he'd been unsuccessful. She gave him a sleepy smile, one of her hands slowly moving up to where his was touching her face.

"So, how long have you been staring?" she murmured.

He blushed, but a little bit of his old glibness returned.

"Not long enough," he said.

Moira laughed, glancing out the window.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Only about an hour since Kevin went to his room," he said, "I thought I'd let the both of you sleep."

She straightened, moving away from him and stretching. He ached from the loss of contact, but she probably would have to go soon, if for nothing more than to check in on her son. He was starting to regain some of his confidence, children were a resilient bunch, but still.

All it did was increase his timeline. He licked his lips nervously.

"Moira, if you don't mind, well, I was wondering if, perhaps, I could trouble you for some of your time on during this week? Around night? Dinner time I mean."

She paused in mid-stretch, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Are you...asking me out?" she asked.

"There is a really good place in New Salem, maybe twenty minutes from here," he babbled, "I just thought, maybe, well, it's a school here. We could ask Jean or Kurt to look after Kevin, just in case. Any time they have off, aren't doing anything. Maybe even Peter. He, Kevin I mean, likes them all, he's told me and...well..."

Charles licked his lips again, feeling as though the skin had never touched anything moist in his life. She looked at him slowly and lowered her arms.

"I think I'd...have to ask Kevin how he feels about being left alone," she said.

"Yes, yes of course," said Charles hurriedly, "You would need to do that. Yes."

Whatever of his old glibness which had returned had, apparently, deigned to abandon him once more. But when she reached out, taking his hand, he realized that, for whatever reason, he couldn't care less about that.

"But," she said, "barring that...I would love to."


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N:** I usually don't comment on world events in my stories, and I have no desire to turn anything I write into a political discussion or any sort of debate on this website. My writing here is meant to be fun, no matter how dark it is. I'm writing about a comic-book universe that I love after all._

 _However, as some of you may know, I live in Florida. Orlando has been the setting of some of my favorite childhood memories, a place where I went for a graduation trip once upon a time. It's definitely the home of some of the best days of my life._

 _I'm not saying this to be dramatic or anything of that nature, but the idea that something like what happened Sunday would happen there is staggering to me. A lot of us have grown up in a post 9/11 world where we are taught that these things can happen at any time or at any place. We're taught to be vigilant and to be careful, although, sadly, this isn't something that just marks American households in light of the attacks that have happened in the past years. However, nothing actually prepares us for when this happens so close to us. Not really._

 _My heart goes out to the families who have been affected by this, to the lives that have been cut short. While there are a few theories out there as to whether or not this was truly an act of terrorism, some are saying it has more signs of a hate crime, I can only say that it was clearly inspired by hate on some level or another._

 _I pray for those who were left injured and families who were left bereft by what can only be seen as a senseless act. Whether or not we grew up more fearful as a result of our childhoods, I can say for certain that, wherever we're from, we're not meant to grow up to hate like this. We were meant for better things._

 _That's all I have to say._

* * *

The cut wasn't deep, but it was by no means shallow. If Hank had to measure it, he'd say that it was slightly longer than his index finger, and about as thick as his thumb. His Beast-form thumb, not his regular one.

"This sucks."

"You should've been more careful," Hank said.

Scott winced as Hank dabbed a solution onto his arm. He'd come down to Hank's lab under the heaviest of protests, but Hank wanted to make sure it didn't need stitches. He had the feeling that, if the cut Scott had received in the Danger Room was deep or bad, he wouldn't say anything.

Perhaps that was a Summers trait. He tried not to think of how many times he'd sat with his friend in that room, him shaking his head over some new way Alex had managed to hurt himself. Every time he'd try to tough it out.

"What was I supposed to do?" Scott asked, "That robot was coming right at Jean."

"Not with that robot," said Hank, "I mean the one you didn't see because you were taking care of a robot she could've taken down."

The teen flushed and looked down. Hank managed to avoid raising an eyebrow, but only just. He'd wondered if he was just seeing things when it came to him and Jean, but apparently not.

Poor kid. It was obvious by his reaction that he didn't know how to handle what he was feeling. Hank had been there himself. At least Jean seemed to genuinely like Scott back but, then again, what did he know?

"The Danger Room isn't a good place to bring emotions," Hank said.

"Thanks for telling me that in private," mumbled Scott, "Not yelling it out in front of everyone like Mystique did."

He winced. Yes, that had probably been humiliating for him. He wondered if he should talk to Charles about it because, even with Scott's resulting injury, it had seemed cruel. Mystique had been difficult to deal with since Moira and Kevin had come to the Institute. The past two decades hadn't marked any instances where their relationship was anything but difficult, but things had gotten worse since that night.

And while Hank had some theories on why that was, he chose to keep them to himself, at least for now. Once upon a time, Mystique had confided in him. His information was around two decades old, and he hoped she'd moved on from those particular feelings, especially in light of what had happened afterward.

Putting his own personal feelings aside, Hank was worried about where things would lead with Mystique training the X-men. She wasn't doing bad, she knew how to fight, but she was lacking a touch that would make them trust her.

"I didn't deserve that," Scott said.

"To be fair, she yelled out that you were sexist, not that you liked Jean," said Hank, "Which, admittedly, isn't flattering either."

"Do you think they think I'm sexist?" Scott said, "Because, I mean, I know Jean can take care of herself. I was there in Cairo. It's just...I saw it coming and I panicked, okay? I didn't want her to...didn't want anybody to get hurt."

Hank's fingers stilled for a minute, knowing exactly what Scott was referencing. He could still see the explosion sometimes when he closed his eyes.

"I don't think they think that," he said, "But I understand panic Scott. You're in a difficult position. But you have to train it out. Just keep working at it. You'll figure it out."

He put the cotton swab he'd been using to soak up the solution away and selected a bandage.

"Now, I think you should tell people you ran into a door if they ask about it," he said, "It's not a good excuse for most people but, given your glasses, people might actually believe it."

"I can see fine," said Scott.

"I know, but they don't know that," Hank said, "People will start asking questions if you don't have some sort of excuse. Just to let you know."

Scott nodded and looked down at his arm as Hank applied the bandage.

"Am I really obvious with her?" asked Scott.

Hank paused, wondering if he was really having this conversation. Was Scott asking him for advice?

"Because, I just, I don't really know what to do," Scott mumbled.

He was. Some part of Hank's head started flashing with panic. The other part was almost amused. What would Alex say if he knew his little brother was asking Hank of all people for romantic advice? Good grief.

"Maybe not that obvious," said Hank, "But what makes you think she wouldn't want you to ask her out?"

It was a good inquiry, one that gave him time to think. He was going to need that.

"It's not that," said Scott, "It's just...with everything that's going on Hank...with all this...stuff..."

He waved his uninjured arm around.

"I just...I don't want to start something like this," he said, "Not now. I know I like her, but, with all of this, I'm still working things out with myself. I don't wanna drag someone into that without any prelude...and I don't know if I could support something like that. Be any good. I do like her, and I want to...someday, you know, ask her out, but..."

Scott shrugged helplessly. Hank stared at him for a moment. Scott had refused to even reference his brother to most anyone. He might have talked about it with Jean, and he knew words had been exchanged with Charles, but this?

It was a momentous admission, and one Hank would've expected from someone ten years Scott's senior. There was a maturity to recognizing that, to knowing there would be problems. He clasped Scott's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

No wonder Alex had thought Scott was going to do something great.

"I think that you'll figure things out," said Hank, "But only you really know what you're dealing with."

Scott looked down at his hands, picking at his nails. The door slid open, and he jumped to his feet. Mystique walked in, and Hank could only sigh. She really did have the most spectacular timing sometimes.

"How's our patient doing?" she asked brusquely, "See any more damsels in distress he needs to save?

Hank prepared to answer, but Scott stepped forward, jerking his sleeves down.

"Fine," he said, "I'm going to be telling people I ran into a door until it heals. Awesome. I've got homework to do."

Mystique crossed her arms as Scott walked past her and into the hallway. Hank let out a frustrated breath and turned back to his work.

"He has an attitude problem," Mystique said.

"Then he's in good company," muttered Hank.

In the seconds after speaking, Hank had half-hoped that she hadn't heard what he'd said. Judging by the way her forehead puckered and her eyes narrowed, he hadn't had any such luck. It just figured.

"Hank, I don't need this from you," she said.

"You humiliated him in front of his classmates," said Hank, "He's going to remember that."

"He's supposed to."

Hank pushed his swivel chair so he faced her. He wondered if Mystique had worked with teenagers since she herself had been one. Didn't she remember what it was like at all? Didn't she know that working with them wasn't like working with adults?

"I'm just saying, doing this sort of thing, it's not helping them build a bond with you," said Hank.

"I'm not here to be their friend," Mystique said, "I'm here to make sure they stay alive."

He swallowed, trying to see if there was any better way to get his point across.

"Look, they can't just have negative reinforcement all the time," Hank said, "They need to feel like you care, like you're going to be there for them if they fail just as much as when they succeed."

"So you want me to coddle them?"

"It's not coddling," said Hank, "It's teaching. You can't just make them feel bad about themselves all the time. You can be tough but you can't make them feel like they're failures every single time they see you."

She snorted.

"Look, you and Charles have your methods, and I have mine," she said, "We can't all be the good cops here."

"Yes, but they're gong to definitely see you as bad cop if you keep doing this," said Hank, "I mean, did you really do this training session to make up for the one we missed because we were helping out a child?"

"They need training," Mystique said.

"Yes, but you set it up like a punishment," said Hank, "I didn't want to say anything in front of them, but you're making it sound like what they did last night was a bad thing. And that's what this whole place was set up to do, to take care of mutants."

"No one told me what was going on!" snapped Mystique.

Although Hank recognized things were getting out of control, all he could feel was a deep, bone-weariness settling in on him. He'd been so hopeful when she'd said she was staying at the school. Things definitely wouldn't be the way they were, but after their conversation only a few days ago, he'd thought that, just maybe, she'd at least understood.

Now, he was worried that she didn't. And that left him without even an iota of understanding of why she'd stayed.

"I didn't get much either," said Hank, throwing his hands up, "But I dropped everything because a mutant child was in trouble. And that's something you're going to have to get used to."

"Charles had you drop everything because it was Moira's son in trouble," Mystique said, "Her being here is going to cause problems, and all of you are just okay with that?"

Despite himself, the weariness now had an edge of anger in it too. It crept into his voice when he spoke.

"Problems for us, or for you?" he asked.

Mystique let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You're really not seeing this?" she asked, "A CIA agent, the only government agent present at what happened in Cairo, just up and goes missing for days? People are going to start asking questions Hank. The boy's father doesn't even know he's here."

"They're divorced," Hank said.

"But he at least has custody rights in some form or another," Mystique said, "Although, frankly, I'm more worried about the CIA. The CIA Hank."

"She's told them she's really sick right now," said Hank.

"That won't last forever," Mystique said.

Hank looked down. Even though he was frustrated with her, he had to admit that Raven had a point. How long would the CIA believe that? Even if they did, how much time would go by before they started asking where she was or needing her?

"Charles acts like such a fool when it comes to her," said Mystique, "And we're not in a position where he can do that Hank. We're just not, okay? She might have CIA surveillance on her house right now."

"Yes, okay," said Hank, "But Kevin still needs her around right now. I don't think they have surveillance right now. But, if things get serious, just, you know, we have a teleporter and a speedster on our team. We could just have Kurt drop her off. He'd probably be able to teleport in between all those trucks and-"

"Goddammit Hank! Stop volunteering him to be your errand boy!"

The words were sharp and venomous, blindsiding him entirely. He blinked a few times at Mystique, at the look of sudden regret and trepidation on her face. It was just something else she wasn't telling them.

And, suddenly, he'd had enough.

"Scott didn't deserve what you did today either," he said. "He cares about Jean, and someone else he recently cared about died. So think about that, or maybe just ask instead of shouting."

He turned away, glaring at his papers.

"And I didn't deserve that either."

"Hank-"

"I've got work to do," Hank said, "If you want to talk sometime else, free of whatever it is you're freaking out about, you can come back. But, right now, I'm busy."

He grabbed a pen, signing any forms he could get his hands on. After a few minutes he heard her footsteps on the floor. When he was satisfied she was gone, he snapped the pen in two, letting the ink dribble on his hand.


	15. Chapter 15

"Now, just be very careful," Jean said, "You have to know exactly where you want to move it, and how. Otherwise it's going to be very wobbly."

Kevin nibbled on his lip, watching as Jean moved the stick from one side of the clearing to another. She made it look so effortless, almost like she was just wiping a cloth against a window.

"When you get really good at it, you won't even have to use your hands," she said, "I can move a few small things just by looking at them now. It means I don't have to get up to turn off the music."

She lowered her hand and turned to him.

"Now," she said, "You try."

Feeling uncertain, Kevin looked over his shoulder. His mother and Charles were standing a few feet away, giving him an encouraging smile. The last few days had gone by like a blur, with a heavy concentration on his telepathy, helping him send a few thoughts to Charles that began when he initiated contact.

Kevin was still hearing the whispers of the other students, but it wasn't so bad now. Charles had even told him he could start classes soon, if he felt up to it. He was trying to start him out small, he said.

But Kevin didn't mind. School had never been fun before. Instead, he was taking time to enjoy whatever Charles was teaching him. He was taking time to enjoy his mother's undivided attention, even if she did have to field phone calls. The last five days he'd spent at the Institute were definitely some of the best of his life.

This proved a new challenge though. They were moving into telekinesis, as Jean had called it, and all he could remember was throwing his mom away, the way the trees had shattered into tiny splinters. He remembered casting the wood chip away, making the decision to come.

Swallowing, he turned back and looked at the stick. Uncertain, he stretched out his hand and the stick rose into the air about three centimeters. It moved shakily a few inches before falling straight down.

"Okay, not bad for a first try," Jean said.

"It sucked," Kevin said.

"Don't say that," said his mom, "It's not a good word."

"But it did," muttered Kevin.

Jean forced another smile and crouched down so she was eye level with him.

"It's not that bad," she said, "We're our own worst judges, did you know that?"

He gave a half shrug and then looked at the stick.

"Don't wanna do this," he said.

"Just give it another try," said Jean, "Picture the destination, and the journey. You'll be able to do it soon enough."

With a frustrated sigh, Kevin held out his hand, concentrating as hard as he could. The stick made it halfway to where he wanted to go before it flopped down on the ground. He let his hand fall by his side.

"Can I go now?" he asked.

 _Now Kevin, that's a little rude_ , Charles said, _Jean is only trying to help._

 _Yeah, but this is difficult._

 _If you don't try, you'll never get it,_ said Charles.

Maybe I don't wanna get it!

From across the clearing, Kevin heard the stick shatter. He froze, remembering the ways the trees had shattered. He felt himself begin to tremble, remembering that day, remembering the way his mother had been flung from him-

 _Kevin, **no.**_

He breathed in, swallowing again.

 _We don't want to push you,_ said Charles, _But you can't keep blaming yourself for mistakes you've made in your past. Your mother doesn't blame you, and we don't either. You couldn't help yourself then, but that doesn't mean these gifts are something to be afraid of. Once you learn to control them, then you never have to worry about hurting anyone again._

Kevin swallowed hard, feeling that warmth once again, like Charles was right behind him, his hand on his shoulder. Charles made him feel like it could be alright, like he could trust him, like he wanted the best for him.

It was like what his mother made him feel.

 _Your gifts are something beautiful Kevin. You do believe that, don't you?_

 _I want to,_ Kevin said.

 _Well, I believe it_ , said Charles, _I know it's hard to see, but if you concentrate, then I believe that you can do something amazing. I won't push you, but there's nothing to be afraid of Kevin. Nothing at all._

Kevin looked back out into the clearing. He could feel Jean's uncertain gaze, and heard his mother speaking only a few feet away from him.

"Kevin, are you feeling alright?"

Was he? He wasn't sure. But, like he'd told Charles, he wanted to believe. He wanted to believe he could use his telepathy as effortlessly and kindly as Charles, that he could move things as easily and freely as Jean did. He wanted to.

Slowly, he extended his hand. His fingertips twitched, and another stick rose into the air. It shook slightly as it moved across the clearing, but he followed it the whole way, imagining himself picking it up and putting it somewhere else.

He let the stick go, and it clattered to the ground. To his surprise, everyone started clapping. It wasn't anywhere near as smooth as Jean had done hers, but he hadn't made it explode either. Maybe that was something.

His mother came up to him, smiling and giving him a hug. Jean looked pleased too and, as he hugged his mother back, he looked over his shoulder at Charles. He was giving him a smile, nodding his head.

"I'm so proud of you Kevin," his mom said.

"Took me three tries," he said.

"But you didn't give up," she said, "And that's really important."

"Really?" Kevin asked.

He wondered if, despite the fact she'd been there the whole time, she'd somehow managed to not see his first two pitiful performances. Or the stick shattering.

"You did a really good job," his mom said, "I know this hasn't been easy for you, and I know you're working so hard."

Kevin looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers.

"I think...I think maybe I'm getting the hang of it," he said.

It was impossible to keep the doubt out of his voice, but he had to be positive. His mother was proud. She obviously saw something he didn't, something he couldn't. Not yet. Charles had made it sound like he would in time.

He fervently hoped he was right.

"Are we doing more today?" he asked.

"No, I think we'll take a break now," Charles said, "Jean's got class to get back to soon, which is actually something I wanted to talk to you and your mother about."

His mother looked up, her brow furrowed. Jean walked a little closer, practically bouncing on her heels out of excitement.

 _What's going on?_ Kevin asked her, _Is it a surprise for mom? I won't spoil it if it is._

 _He'll tell you in a minute._

"I was thinking we could get you started on some of our classes here, the scholastic ones," Charles said, "We've made some progress on your gifts, so I thought it might be good to start integrating you into our main curriculum."

Kevin blinked a few times. Yes, school. He'd pretty much forgotten that it included desks and books in the time he'd been there. Had it really only been five days ago that he'd done classwork? It seemed like much longer.

"I, I honestly hadn't thought about that Charles," his mother said.

She looked uncertainly over at Kevin. He looked back at her, wondering what it was that she was looking for. His consent? He didn't think that was it. His mother had always sent him to school unless he was sick, even if he didn't want to go.

"We don't have a lot of younger students, six in total," he said, "The youngest is seven, and the oldest is ten. They're, well, they're sort of one-room schoolhousing it at the moment."

"Like _Little House on the Prairie_?" asked Kevin.

He immediately flushed. Charles looked over at him.

 _No need to be embarrassed_ , he said, _I read that book when I was your age. So do plenty of boys. No one should tease you just because a girl's the main character._

Kevin beamed and his mother looked between him and Charles.

"Try to speak out loud," she said, "I have a hard enough time keeping up as it is."

Her words were chiding, but her tone was light, almost pleased. Was it just that he was using his gifts?

"Alright, alright," Charles laughed, "But yes, just like Laura Ingalls. I would love for you to be the seventh student."

His mother bit her lip, looking down at Kevin.

"Charles, Jean, could you give us a minute?" she asked.

"Of course," Charles said.

He pushed himself away, with Jean following him like a shadow. Kevin frowned, wondering what was going on. Why couldn't they be there? Did his mom have to tell him something that they couldn't know? He'd have to be extra careful in his exchanges with Charles if that was the case.

Once they were gone she sat down on the grass and motioned for him to sit next to her. Kevin did so, crossing his legs and grasping at his ankles. She didn't start speaking immediately, just kept looking across the clearing.

Kevin rocked back and forth, wondering what was on his mom's mind. She was obviously thinking deeply about something, something he couldn't see. His frown deepened, and he began rocking back and forth slightly.

"You like it here, don't you?" she asked.

The question was quiet, but it still caught Kevin off-guard. He looked at her in surprise.

"I mean," she said, "I'm sure you must miss Virginia. New York is very different."

"Good different," Kevin said.

She turned to look at him, her words hesitant.

"I never knew you didn't like Virginia," she said.

"Virginia is fine," Kevin said, "I guess. I mean, it's got grass and stuff."

He let go of his ankles and began tearing up the grass next to him. He could still remember Virginia dirt getting under his fingernails the night everything had changed, when he'd begun to hear thoughts as if they were whispers.

He'd never done that with New York dirt.

"I'd like to go to school here though," said Kevin, "I like the people better. I think I'll like the teachers better too. Charles wouldn't hire anybody who wasn't a good teacher I think."

"Yes," his mother said.

She hesitated again.

"Kevin, if you go to school here, you'll have to live here," she said, "And, you won't miss Virginia?"

"I'll miss Uncle Levine," he said, "But he'll visit, right?"

"I have no doubt."

"Then no," said Kevin, "But...you. You'd be here too right?"

His mother hesitated again, and Kevin's eyes grew wide.

"I take it back," he said, "We can go back to Virginia. It's okay. It's great. I love it there. I don't wanna leave."

"No, Kevin," his mother said, putting her hands on his shoulders, "Kevin."

He didn't stay anything, but stayed wary.

"I'm not sure if I'd be able to come here immediately," she said, "But...a long time ago I wanted to come here, to help Charles with what he was doing. Now, can you keep a secret?"

Kevin nodded dutifully. He'd have to stop talking to Charles and Jean with his mind as much as he did, things still slipped out sometimes, but he could keep a secret.

"Good," she said, "Because I think I'm going to ask him if I could stay too. I know a lot about mutants and...about people who are also very interested in mutants. Not all of it is public...but...well...they may need to know it if something bad happens again, like it did a week ago."

"So...you'd stay too?" he asked.

She smiled, the expression lighting up her entire face. It had been a long time since he'd seen her smile like that.

"Yes," she said.

Kevin threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly. He could feel tears in his eyes, but he didn't want her to see him crying.

"Thank you mom," he said, "Thank you so much."

"Oh Kevin," she said, stroking his hair, "Trust me when I say that I think I want this as much as you do."


	16. Chapter 16

"So, she's staying?" asked Scott, flipping a few pages in his book, "That's pretty cool."

"Yeah," Jean said, pleased, "I'm not sure exactly if she'll teach or not, but it's going to be great to have her around."

 _I think she'll be more on the X-men side of things,_ Jean thought to Scott, S _he's an expert. She knew about Nur before we even knew what was going on. I heard she can fight too._

 _Anything other than what we've got_ , Scott thought back.

Jean bit her lip. Scott had been very reserved around Mystique since what had happened in the Danger Room. She wished there was a way to smooth that out, but Scott had never had the same hero worship many of them had for Mystique to start with. There had been room for one hero in his life and, now that he was gone, she had the feeling he wasn't going to replace him with Mystique.

Any respect she'd won a week ago was rapidly being eroded away by what she knew Scott saw as constant demoralization. While Jean had only been the target of Mystique's wrath a few time, Kurt alone seemed immune, she wasn't taking it hard. That wasn't the case with everyone. It was particularly bad with Storm, given how much she'd looked up to Mystique. It was like something was eating away at the blue mutant.

"Hey, can you help me with this?"

Jean turned away from her homework and turned to the reason they were doing so much communication in their minds. Kevin was staring at the library shelves, at one of the books two shelves above his reach. Jean smiled.

"I think you can get it," she said.

Kevin bit his lip.

"I keep forgetting I can do that," he said, "And, I'm not, I'm not so good at it."

"I think you can reach it," she said, "You just need to try."

The child wrinkled his nose, but did as she bid. Jean watched in satisfaction as the book left its fellows, making an uncomfortable journey down to Kevin's hands. If it was a heavier volume Jean would've been more nervous, but, as it was, it was a fairly slender volume.

"Thanks," he said, "I didn't get to finish this before I left home. I think he was gonna propose when I left off. Or...he might've already. I had a headache."

Jean smiled. _Persuasion_ had always been one of her favorites. Kevin's love of reading had him seeking books above his reading level, but she'd done the same thing as a child. Charles had told her he'd devoured them when he was younger too. She wondered if, perhaps, telepaths were natural bibliophiles.

Kevin tucked the book under his arm before curling up in a chair to read. The Professor and Moira had some details to discuss, and apparently he'd suggested they do it over dinner. Jean had her own theories about that, especially from the look Moira had given him. It wasn't outraged, just a little surprised, and she'd overheard the words "rushed" and "give me some warning," in Moira's head.

But Kevin had assented, even volunteering to go to bed early. Jean had stepped in, ensuring that wouldn't be necessary, but still. She wondered if he knew more on the subject, but she couldn't see much of a point in pushing him. Maybe the child knew, maybe he didn't. And, even if he did, he didn't seem to mind.

Then again, who would? She had no idea where his father was, but his name had never been mentioned in the five days he'd been there. Jean could only assume he was dead or something similar. If Kevin didn't care about his father, and didn't have one to speak of, then she didn't know of anyone would mind The Professor stepping into that role. He'd already done so for most of the students there.

"He proposed," Kevin said.

He caught her eye, and Jean gave a thumbs up. From where he was, his school books scattered around him, Scott grinned. She knew he wasn't a big book lover, but she had the feeling he could appreciate that the child was happy.

She hoped that Scott was too, as much as he could be. Jean sat down, flipping her text book open, pointing at a passage with her pencil.

"Have you memorized the first half of the periodic table?" she asked.

"Jean," Scott moaned.

"No, no excuses," said Jean, "You haven't been studying, have you?"

"I have," he said, "Just...algebra. Not this."

"You have to study all of them Scott," she said.

"I know," he said, "I know. It's gonna take me more than a letter written while eavesdropping to get outta this one, right? Wentworth had it easy."

She blinked at him, surprised. Scott just shook his head and looked down at his textbook.

"Don't give me too much credit," he said, "Eighth grade English was pretty brutal."

* * *

Moria looked across her menu at Charles, who was still giving her his signature grin. She rolled her eyes and then looked back at the list of entrees.

"You still should've given me some warning," she said.

"What?" he asked, all innocence, "We do have quite a few things to discuss Moira. Many arrangements to be made. Kevin said so himself."

"He would've agreed to wrangling an elephant if he thought it would get us to the Institute permanently faster," said Moira.

Charles paused, his facade of cheerful goading slipping slightly.

"He likes it that much?" he asked, pleased, "I might need that testimonial for prospective students. Maybe I should put that on the brochure."

While it might have been mocking from someone else, there was also an earnestness that Moira found heartbreaking. In the few days since she'd been at the Institute, she'd learned of its troubled history, Hank's tale of struggle, although she had the feeling he was deliberately leaving things out. There'd already been one failure, but Charles was steamrolling on without a fear for the future.

Not even Nur's attack could stop his faith. It was like he was journeying toward something beautiful, wanting to take everyone with him when he went. It reminded her of the man she'd met all those years ago as a young woman at the CIA.

"Maybe we should discuss some business, just to keep things honest," she said.

 _Well, most of it we can't really discuss in the open. Not unless you want to have the whole room know about some of our extracurricular activities._

She frowned, but he was right. She made her selection and then put her menu down.

"Well, were you serious about there only being six children Kevin's age?" she asked.

"Yes," Charles said, "I wish I could expand our curriculum a little more, but we're still a fairly small operation. We haven't even managed to make our way to Europe in the recruiting process. We don't lack the room, just the resources at the moment."

"I'm surprised you were able to find so many under the age of eleven to be honest," Moira said, "It usually doesn't manifest until puberty."

"In my experience, yes," said Charles, "Sometimes a little later. As though being a teenager wasn't difficult enough already. I actually counted myself fairly lucky that I manifested early."

"Why's that?" asked Moira.

It was meant as a way to prolong the conversation, but she could see Charles was shifting in his seat, uncomfortable. She quickly took a sip of wine, trying to mask the silence that had fallen between the two of them.

When it didn't work, she put both her hands on the table.

"Charles, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to," she said.

"No, that's not it," he said, "Not really. It's just...it's actually easier to hide as a child. If you say you're hearing voices, adults are more likely to think that you're playing some sort of game. When you're older, they're more likely to send in psychiatrists and doctors. Make you think it's not real."

His eyes traced the swirls and folds in the table cloth.

"I'm glad that, no matter what happened to me, I discovered that I wasn't crazy," he said, "And I discovered that on my own. While, admittedly, I had a much more positive experience than others, it was more of a matter of being left to my own devices."

Charles looked up, a smile suddenly gracing his face.

"And then I found my sister and that, admittedly, made it better," he said, "I always thought that, if mutants could meet other mutants like them, then things would be easier. They wouldn't feel alone, even if they didn't get along right away."

"You're really glad she's back, aren't you?" asked Moira.

"I am," he said, "I know she's having...difficulty adjusting. I wish she would let me help, but, after some of the things she's said to me, I have the feeling it won't be welcome."

"Oh," Moira said.

He shrugged, but she could tell this was bothering him more than he was letting on.

"Whatever she wants to do, she wants to do it her way," he said, "I don't think she really wants my help. Or my input. I...I sometimes get the feeling she feels forced to be here, almost like I made her stay after Nur."

"Forced her?" asked Moira.

"Maybe it's just in my head," he said, "All I did was ask, and all I did was say a sentence or two about the good she could do. She did agree to stay but...sometimes I can feel her resentment."

"That's not fair to you," Moira said.

"Well, she's had a difficult time of it," said Charles.

"No Charles," Moira said.

She reached out across the table and took his hand. He looked at it, surprised, putting down his own menu.

"Listen to me," she said, "I know that the people we love aren't perfect, and I know you want to be there for her. But she can't do this on her own. She came back. She decided to stay. She might feel like playing the angry prodigal coming home, but she's not allowed to do that forever."

He gave Moira a half shrug.

"All I can do is be patient, help where I'm asked, offer it when I can," he said, "I know just how fragile a line I'm walking when it comes to Raven."

"You don't have to tiptoe around people Charles," said Moira.

She felt his thumb stroke the back of her knuckles gently, reverently. But there was something fearful there too.

"Then...perhaps it's time I asked something," he said.

"Which is?"

He swallowed, still not looking up.

"I know you're giving up quite a bit to stay here," he said, "I just...Moira, please be truthful. Will you be happy here? With the school, with...with me? Will it be enough for you?"

When his eyes met hers, it was with such pleading that her heart broke. Moira gripped his hand tightly, trying to convey all the yearning and love she felt for the amazing man in front of her, the one who had fought so hard for so long, asking for so little and being given even less. He was the man who had ushered her son into the light, him and other mutants like him.

"Charles, it's been my dream to help mutants for a very long time," she said, "Staying here will just give me a new way to do that."

She pulled his hand to her lips, letting it linger there, feeling him clutch her hand closer, more desperately.

"And Charles?" she said, "You will always be enough for me. You will never let me down."

"I've done it before," he said.

"But we're together again," she said, "And, if I can make sure that we stay that way without sacrificing anything for Kevin, then I will. And that's a promise."


	17. Chapter 17

"So, you'll never believe it," Charles said, splaying out his fingers, "But Hank insisted that we needed a biology lab for students. I told him it was a bad idea since we'd never done any renovations to that wing before-"

"But you let him do it anyway, didn't you?" asked Moira.

He laughed, shaking his head. The two of them were moving slowly up to the driveway, having left the car behind long ago. It was almost midnight now, although it felt much earlier. Had they really been out for five hours? It seemed like it moved by in a blur.

He hoped Hank, or Raven for that matter, didn't ask him what he'd had. All he could remember was the number of times Moira smiled, her hand brushing his. Whatever food he'd managed to consume had long been forgotten.

Charles could feel Moira behind him, her fingers just barely making contact with the back of his neck. In all reality, she was pushing his wheelchair. Any touches were accidental. However, if he leaned his head back, he could just feel her knuckles kiss his skin.

The slight hitch in both their breaths made the gesture worth it.

"Yes, and it really did seem, after the renovations were done, it wasn't so bad," said Charles, "Children should be able to learn about science. Of course, Hank was always responsible as a child. He never mixed chemicals together until something went boom."

"I think I know where this is going," Moira said.

"Not entirely," Charles smiled, "You see, I hadn't been paying attention to the details and it turns out Hank didn't think he'd need to lock the chemical cabinets. It simply never occured to him."

"Oh Hank," laughed Moira.

"And it wasn't a problem," said Charles, "Not at first. And then there was the first day of school and one of the little rascals noticed."

"So, how long did it take for the whole place to blow up?" asked Moira.

"It didn't make it past orientation," Charles said.

She laughed again, and Charles turned in his chair, basking in the sound. He'd made her do that. That laughter had been because of him, as had that joy.

"How old was the perp?" she asked.

"Thirteen," said Charles, "I doubt he even knew what half those chemicals were."

"Doesn't matter. Any parent could've told you what would happen," she said, "They would've told you to lock the cabinet and throw away the key."

"Yes well, I didn't ask them how many of their children could be trusted around volatile chemicals when I built the school," Charles replied, "And you sound as though you speak from experience."

"You should've seen Kevin when he got his first chemistry kit last year," Moira said, "Tears through the paper like it's the best Christmas present ever, and then he was upset when there weren't any instructions for nitro glycerin."

"Oddly specific thing to want," said Charles.

"Well, he reads a lot," Moria said, "And I'm not just honor student bragging Charles. And I don't know whether to be worried that he's reading books like _Pride and Prejudice_ at his age or proud."

"Why worried?" asked Charles.

She shook her head and stopped pushing his wheelchair. Moira crossed both her arms over the back of his chair, leaning down so her head was level with his. Her auburn hair fell to the side, a few strands scattering across her face.

He could feel the urge to brush away the hair and pull her closer for a kiss. But no, he'd told himself he needed at least a little restraint. They were still outside, and any of the students looking out the window could see them.

"That's he's going to be smarter than my by the time he's fifteen," Moira said, "Right now, it's kind of fun being the smart one in the family."

"Oh, don't be that way," Charles teased, "You'll find it's actually quite liberating to talk to someone on the same level of intelligence. You should try it sometime. Maybe just more time away from the CIA?"

"That's not fair," she said, "You haven't seen the bureau lately. It's much better than it was, or at least how my division used to be."

"Mmhm."

She rolled her eyes and resumed pushing the wheelchair. Charles looked at the school in the distance. He had seven more minutes with her, perhaps fourteen if he could get her to stay with him up until his office level, located one level above her room.

It was precious time. Soon, the worlds of work, of logistics, were going to interfere. Right now, it was only the two of them.

"Seriously though," she said, "They've done some things I haven't agreed with but, Charles, they're really trying to make a difference there. I'm not the only mutant expert right now."

"You're just the smartest, correct?" asked Charles.

"I'm just the one who investigates the cults," she said, "Mostly anyway. And, trust me, a lot of them were harmless, talking about spiritual preferences, or the worship of science. Pretty much just kooks who'd never found their niche."

"Anyone we should be worried about?" asked Charles.

Moira paused, considering.

"There's a group in Scotland that's a little worrying," she said, "Slightly militant. Maybe one or two others. But I was mostly paying attention to Nur's little cult at the time."

"Which, as it turns out, was a good thing," said Charles, "But, Scotland? Don't you have family there?"

Her knuckles brushed up against his neck and he shivered. That touch had been far too deliberate to be an accident. It looked like she'd figured out what he was doing. That couldn't be a bad thing, except for the fact that it felt like all the hairs on his neck were pulling him closer to her.

"I'm surprised you remember that," Moira said, "But yes, a few cousins. I don't know most of them."

"Not close family?" asked Charles.

"Not really," she said, "My family moved around a lot, and I never really had time for all of that. From what I remember they're good people though. My mother used to get a Christmas card from them every year until she died."

"So they're good correspondents," Charles said.

They'd reached the door to the Institute. Reluctantly, Charles fished around in his pocket for the key. He didn't want this night to end, especially when it had flown by as quickly as it had. He didn't know when Moira would have another spare night.

He unlocked the multitude of locks on the door and wheeled into the silent halls. When Moira came in behind him, he relocked them, a process she watched with interest. He felt a little sheepish at just how many locks there were, but it paid to be safe, especially after what had recently happened.

He'd actually asked Hank if he would come up with a few extra locks, a bit more high-tech. They were already working on a way to shield them from radars, try to make it hard to land any aircraft but their own there. They had both talked and agreed that, no matter what happened, a helicopter or any other military vessel was never going to land on the lawn again.

Between that and rebuilding the Blackbird, Hank had his hands full.

"Done?" she asked.

"Yes," Charles said, pocketing the key, "Just making sure."

"I don't mind," she said, "This place feels a bit like a fortress, but that's a good thing in some respects. I know Kevin'll be safe here."

"You'll both be," Charles said eagerly, "Between this and our other preparations, anyone who thinks they're just going to waltz in here will be sadly mistaken."

"Good to hear," she said.

Moira pushed him into the elevator. As the doors closed, he saw her fingers hesitate in front of the buttons. She didn't know which one to push, or she hadn't made up her mind yet. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to gather more courage.

"Mind if I see you to your door?" Moira asked.

Charles looked up, grinning. All of his nervousness evaporated away. She'd wanted to spend as much time with him as possible too. It relaxed him, let him know that she cared too, reminding him of what she'd said over dinner.

For her, at least, it appeared he would be enough.

"Why of course I don't," he said, "But you'll have to be quick. I can't let my parents know I have a caller."

She snorted with laughter and pressed the button.

"Why?" she said, "Am I not their type?"

"No, and I'm very glad about that," said Charles, "They weren't really my type to be perfectly honest."

"Mine weren't really either," admitted Moira, "I loved them, and they were kind and supportive, but my mom kept asking when I was going to settle down, get married, have kids. My dad was almost as bad. Almost."

The doors dinged open and her hands returned to the back of his wheelchair. His office was in the middle of the corridor, the only occupied room in that particular hall. The rest of the rooms were used as storage, although he and Hank had discussed ways to solve that as well.

His bedroom was at the very end of it, harking back to the days when he'd stayed up all hours doing paperwork, only to collapse in his bed at 2 a.m., up at 6. It had been a struggle to get everything running again, and it had taken a toll, both mentally and physically.

"I'm the last one on the right," he said.

"Got it," she said, "You've really done a number with this place Charles. It's...so different than when we first met, but a good different. I don't think there's anything I'd change in here."

"I can think of a couple things," Charles said.

She paused, frowning at him.

"Erik, teaching, oh, I don't know," said Charles, "Something where he's at peace. His family upstairs. Raven, happy here, happy like she used to be."

Moira sighed, kneeling so she was eye level with him.

"They made their decisions Charles," she said, "You can't keep feeling like it was something you did, something you could've done better."

"I wasn't finished," he said.

Feeling something push him on, he reached out, cupping her face with his hand.

"You here," he said, "Twenty years sooner. Maybe having the courage to be with you when you returned to the CIA, or begging you not to go back at all, to stay with us."

"That would've been dangerous," said Moira, folding her hand over his.

"I know," Charles said, "But...it would've been good Moira."

"It wouldn't have been safe, not for you, not for the boys," said Moira, "Even I knew that. Besides...I don't believe in holding onto the past. And you shouldn't be either."

"It can be hard sometimes," he said.

"Trust me, I've been there," Moira said, "But the future can be good too."

She leaned in, her face touching his.

"Especially when there's so much to look forward to."

He closed his eyes when she leaned in further, her lips on his. Charles could feel her hesitance, but also her sincerity. When he responded, his hands immediately went to her shoulders, pulling her in, trying to let her know how much he wanted her, how glad he was that she'd forgiven him, how much it meant to him that she, at least, was going to stay, wanted to stay.

Her movements became more heated, pressing up against him further. He was all but holding her now, surrounded by her scent, her hair, her warmth and love.

 _I love you Moira,_ he thought, letting her feel the full impact of his thoughts, _So much. I never stopped._

She pulled away slightly and, suddenly, he was worried he'd told her too much. But when her lips descended on his again, he could feel her thoughts loud and clear.

 _I love you too Charles._

Her lips parted and he held her close, feeling his body, his very being, thrum with something he hadn't felt in years. And when he had felt it, it hadn't been her, hadn't been the one woman he knew he could never let go.

It took another leap of courage, but he knew he had to say it.

"You don't...you don't have to go back to your room tonight," he whispered.

She looked up at him and smiled, gently disentangling herself from his arms. Moira leaned on his door, slowly pushing it open.

"You're right," she murmured, "I don't."


	18. Chapter 18

Charles lazily twined his hand through a few stray auburn strands of hair that had fallen on his chest. Moira was fast asleep, snuggled near the crook of his neck, one hand draped over his shoulders.

This, he knew, was a kind of contentment he wouldn't have dreamed of ten years ago. So much had changed since then it was dizzying, but even when the school had come back, chock full of students, even then he hadn't dared to dream of having her in his arms like this. To have her say, no, think in thoughts that couldn't lie, that she loved him.

She turned in his arms, her eyes still heavy lidded with sleep. He smiled fondly and ran one of his hands down her cheek, only just touching her skin. Her eyes opened fully and she yawned before laying back down on his chest.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"Not sure," he said, "I think we both might've slept an hour, maybe a half hour more."

She yawned again and looked over at the clock.

"It's 4 a.m.," she said.

"So I gather," replied Charles, unconcerned.

She sighed.

"I'll have to leave soon," she said, "Kevin may be used to waking up and finding me on the sofa at the house...but...well, he may wonder if I'm not back here."

"Understood," said Charles.

He traced his fingers against her shoulder, an idle thought playing in his mind. It had been in and out of his thoughts over the past few days but, now that she said she'd stay with him, that she would come to the school permanently, it was something they needed to discuss.

"Moira, love," he said, "Do you...how do you...well..."

She blinked up at him, still tired but, quite suddenly, curious.

"How do you think we should tell Kevin about us?" he asked.

There was a moment when her eyes widened, and he knew that, for good or ill, she was fully awake now.

"It's just, I would like to do it soon," said Charles, "I thought maybe we could do it together, but it might be better just coming from you. I don't know, I've never been in this sort of situation before."

He thought over his words.

"Well, yes, technically I have," he amended, "My stepfather. But I was only really told when it was time for the wedding and, quite frankly, that's not something I would like to inflict on Kevin-"

She laughed, shifting so she was pressed a little closer, her chin propped up so she was looking at him straight in the eye.

"Charles, we can tell him today," she said.

He felt his heart lift, a grin spreading over his face.

"Really?" he asked.

"The sooner the better," Moira said, "He's an intelligent child. If we don't tell him soon, it's likely he's going to figure it out for himself. And that's not how I want him to find out."

One of her hands touched his jawbone, and he felt prickles of warmth spread out in a radius from her touch.

"I want him to find out from us," she said, "Although, you're right, I should probably be the one to break the news to him, at least initially."

"Good," Charles said, "I...I don't want to be the one to make things awkward between you and your son."

"I don't think it will be," Moira said, "He might not be used to the idea of someone else, not after the divorce, but he probably won't have the same problems other children might. I think he was almost as glad to see Joe disappear as I was."

Her fingers pressed into his chest and he held her tighter. Without willing it, he felt his eyes drawn to the scar near the base of her neck and the beginning of her shoulders. If it had been an inch or so to the left, her husband probably would've taken her life that night.

Kevin would've been left an orphan: he'd rejected his father even before the divorce from the fractured memories that had been shoved into Charles's mind the night he first spoke to him. If he'd actually managed to take Moira from him, then he doubted Kevin would've even admitted to having a father.

And he, he would've lost her forever. His courage wasn't quite there for two years, hadn't been there until he had seen her in Cerebro, knowing their paths were going to cross soon. But, for once, everything had worked out alright.

"But," Moira said, "I think I need to get up now."

"Do you have to?' asked Charles.

"Yes, I think I do."

She began to get up before running a hand through her hair.

"I probably don't look so great right now," she said.

He took in her appearance, her hair mussed, her skin slightly aglow with a thin layer of sweat, her lips swollen from his kisses. He could see where a small mark was beginning to form at the base of his neck, a result of his lips and teeth.

"I think I've never seen you look so good," he said.

There was a puckering of her brow, a look he knew all too well. Charles pushed himself up, cupping her face and giving her a long, deep kiss, deciding words were pointless anyway. She moaned softly and he pulled her closer, once again, for however briefly, losing himself in her.

One of her hands touched his chest, gently, but firmly, pushing him away from her.

"I need to shower up before I go back to my room," she said, "I can't stay here forever and, let's be fair, I probably shouldn't be here when school starts up again in an hour or two.."

"No," he agreed, "But I look forward to the day when you can stay here for as long as you want."

A smile lit up her face and she leaned in, capturing his lips with hers once again. She tilted her head so that her cheek was touching his, and he sighed, marveling at the effect she had on him. When she spoke, her voice was soft and welcoming.

"Me too," she murmured.

* * *

Kevin woke up to a shrill ringing. He glanced over at his mother's side of the room, feeling a brief stab of surprise that she wasn't there. Then again, that wasn't an unusual thing. There had been some nights when she worked late when he didn't see her at all, not even on the couch.

She'd been talking to Charles about work stuff, at least that's what he thought that was. He hoped it wouldn't be like this again though. One of the many things he was looking forward to about living at the school was her never having to do that.

The shrill sound continued and, after a moment, he realized it was her cell phone. He rolled over, ignoring it. He wasn't supposed to answer phones, and it was early. Maybe 4 a.m., or something like that. He hadn't looked too closely at the clock.

The cell phone stopped ringing and Kevin felt his eyes begin to droop again. It was late, or early, depending on who was asked, and he wanted to make sure he got plenty of sleep. He'd have to figure out classes with his mother the next day, and that was going to be boring. He needed to stay awake.

The phone started ringing again, jarring him from his half-asleep state. Kevin glared at it over his shoulder and drew his covers over his head. He wasn't going to listen to it. It would end soon, and whoever it was who was trying to call his mom would just go away.

But it didn't. The phone kept ringing loudly, one cycle more, two. Kevin bit his lip and shifted. He knew he should just leave it, but he wasn't going to be able to sleep like this. His mother would want him to be able to sleep.

He held out his hand, and the phone made a jerky, sloppy journey from her bedside table into his palm. He clicked on the answer button.

"Hello?" he yawned.

"Jesus MacTaggert, took you long enough to answer- wait, you're not Moira."

"No," Kevin said sleepily.

"Great. So, who is this?"

"Her son," said Kevin.

"What? You're only eight, you shouldn't be answering the phone!"

"You're keeping me up," said Kevin, feeling his tiredness shifting toward irritation again.

"Right, right. Where's your mom?"

He looked around him. He wanted to tell him that, wherever she was, she wasn't there, but he knew his mom told him never to tell strangers if he was by himself or not. Technically he was in a school full of people, and he knew Charles said it was safe there, but he wasn't going to let them know anything about where he was.

"Upstairs I think," Kevin said, "Shower or something."

It probably sounded strange, but it was all he could think of.

"Right, well tell her she needs to call work. Now. Tell her that it's urgent. Think you can do that?"

He felt another stab of irritation.

"I'm eight, not two," he said.

"Jesus. Okay. Just tell your mother to call back."

Kevin rolled his eyes as the phone clicked off. All he really wanted to do was to go back to sleep, especially now that he knew the man wasn't going to call him back. Not once he got what he wanted. Now, Kevin could sleep in peace.

But, his mom said urgent things happened in her job. And while she wasn't going to be working for them much longer, he thought it might be a good idea to at least let her know. So, despite how irritated he was, he got out of bed and slipped into his slippers.

They weren't really his, but Peter had given them to him the day before. He'd told him he'd like them, and Kevin had been glad to have something to wear on all the hardware floors. He'd just had to snip off the price tag, and Peter had showed him how to remove something called a "security tag."

He wandered into the hall, wondering where his mother was. Where should he even begin to look? If she wasn't in the hallway, and he knew she wasn't, then he had no idea where else she'd be. He briefly considered trying to find her mind, but he was too sleepy to concentrate.

Maybe he should just go and try and find Charles. He knew where his office was, and his room was probably nearby. It was probably rude to wake him up at this hour, but Charles would definitely be able to tell him.

After a moment, he ruled against it. He wasn't going to bother Charles until he needed to. Besides, what if his mother had just passed out on the couch again? If she had, and Charles found her in a place he could've easily found her, then he'd be embarrassed.

Yawning, he stumbled down the stairs to the common area. It was the first place he could think of with couches. When he saw a woman there, for a moment, he did feel embarrassed, but also glad he hadn't called Charles.

But then he saw it was Miss Raven, whom he'd just barely run into before. She was a little scary, not because of how she looked though. It was that look she got sometimes, angry, but also kinda sad. Kevin always tried to make sure he didn't hear whatever she was thinking. He didn't think he'd want to hear it.

She noticed him and looked over her shoulder, puzzled.

"It's way past lights out," she said.

"What're you doing here then?" he asked.

"None of your business, that's what," said Raven, "But what's going on?"

He gestured vaguely with the hand holding the cell phone.

"I need to find my mom, but she's not in our room, and I don't know where she is," said Kevin.

"Where did you last see her?" asked Raven.

"I think she was going out with Charles," yawned Kevin.

Raven raised one eyebrow and snorted.

"And she's not in her room? Yeah, I think I know where your mom is," she said.

"Oh, where?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Nothing to worry about," she said, "But you should probably just go back to bed. She'll be around in the morning I expect."

"But work said she needed to call now, that it was urgent," said Kevin, waving the phone.

Alarm lit up Raven's face and, in two strides, she was standing in front of him. Kevin instinctively shrank away.

"What did you say?" she asked.


	19. Chapter 19

Mystique knocked on Charles's door, gritting her teeth the entire time. When they were younger she would often wonder just what it was she was going to find when she went into her older brother's room, given the almost magnetic pull he seemed to have on women. She never enjoyed telling him his mother was coming up soon, giving him the ten minute warning he'd need if he wasn't going to get grounded for a month.

She'd found it stupid then, and it was stupid now. This time though, this time there was an emergency. She curled her fingers over the bulky phone. What was so urgent the CIA felt the need to call at this hour, to have her son try and look for his mother?

The door opened and, in two seconds, Mystique knew her suspicions were confirmed. Charles was clothed, at least, but the room was in slight disarray. The sound of the shower running from the adjoining room hit her ears, and she spotted a pair of women's shoes near the bed.

God.

"This is a terrible hour Raven," Charles yawned, "Is something wrong?"

"Moira here?" she said bluntly.

His eyes widened slightly, but there was no point in beating around the bush.

"Let's not discuss this in the hall," said Charles.

"Not sure I want to go in there."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm not having this conversation right now," he said, "But, believe it or not, we do have a few students that have some trouble sleeping. While the odds of them coming down here are slim, I feel like it's better not to take that chance."

She rolled her eyes, but stepped inside. Mystique pointedly ignored the clothes that went with the shoes, feeling more irritated with every passing second. The shower shut off just as he closed the door, putting his hand against it briefly.

"What happened?" he asked.

His brow furrowed, and, all of a sudden, he looked concerned. Good. Perhaps he'd figured out that the phone she was holding in her hand meant something.

"Is Kevin alright?" asked Charles.

Mystique sighed. No. It would be too much to ask.

"Fine, but looking for his mother," she said, "He told me she went out with you and wasn't in the room, so it didn't take a genius to figure out where she was."

"I hope you didn't tell him that," said Charles.

"What, that the reason he couldn't find his mother was because she was too busy sleeping with my brother?" Mystique said, "No, I didn't tell him that."

Her brother struggled for a moment, looking around the room.

"It's...you're not being fair to her," said Charles.

"Whatever Charles," Mystique said, raising the phone and shaking it slightly, "I'm here because of this."

His brow furrowed.

"Is that her cell phone?" asked Charles.

"Yes," she said, "Apparently, it was going off like crazy about ten minutes ago. It got to the point where Kevin went looking for her to tell her the message because he couldn't get to sleep. He gave it to me instead, and I got him to go back to bed and said I'd get it to her."

Finally, she could begin to see the wariness in his eyes, the worry that, just maybe, things weren't as peachy as they seemed. The door to the bathroom opened and Moira stepped out, wrapped in what she could only imagine was one of her brother's bathrobes. She didn't look surprised to see her, so she figured Charles must have alerted her to Mystique's presence.

There also wasn't an ounce of embarrassment on her face, just like there hadn't been with Charles. It was irritating.

"Who was calling?" asked Moira.

"Your boss, apparently," said Mystique.

Moira bit her lip, thinking. Charles reached out and grabbed her hand. Moira squeezed it back, running a hand through her damp hair, some sort of weariness setting in. For a moment, Mystique felt a stab of pity.

But then she remembered the danger they were all in, and it was washed away.

"Call him back before he calls in the cavalry, willya?" said Mystique.

Charles gave her a warning look, but Moira just held out her hand. The phone fell into it with a heavy thunk, and her fingers curled around it. Moira turned to Charles, giving him a tiny nod before she dialed in the number, put the phone up to her ear.

"This is Moira MacTaggert,'" she said.

There was a buzz on the other side, the sound of someone talking very low and very fast, trying to cram in as much information as they could. Moira's expression changed from worried concern to something approaching fear and panic.

"Did you tell him where he could stick that request?" asked Moira.

Charles gripped Moira's hand, but didn't say a word. The panic was too palpable there. Was he in her mind, hearing exactly what she was hearing? Mystique felt left out and irritated, although the irritation was probably only spillover from the entire stupid situation. It shouldn't even be happening.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," Moira said, "You know that I've...you know that I've been sick. It must've been something I ate in Cairo."

There was more buzzing and Moira sighed. She began chewing her lip, the expression in her eyes eroding into something like resignation, something sad and coming deep from within her. It was like looking at someone who, despite their own wishes, was being pulled into something.

Again, that stab of pity. Mystique had been there.

"Listen to me," she said, "I can't right now. I think that-"

Moira ran her spare hand through her hair.

"That can't be true though," she said, "Look, I would have to translate a lot of it. It's not as simple as just turning it over even if I wanted to. Everything's coded in a very specific way. It would take them years to do it without my cooperation, and I'm not cooperating."

More noise. More defeat. She saw Moira sigh and slump.

"Yes, yes of course," she said, "I'll...

Her eyes turned to Charles, almost as though pleading with him to understand.

"...I'll see you in a bit," Moira said.

As Moira clicked off the phone Charles gripped her hand with both of his, desperate.

"Moira, what was that?" he said, "You're not...you're not going anywhere."

It surprised Mystique that there wasn't even any hint of a question in his voice, nor was there any demand. It was just a simple statement of fact, as though he were cashing in on an earlier promise, made when things were different.

Knowing Charles, he probably was.

"Stryker's trying to push through an inter-agency request on my research," Moira said.

Mystique started. Of all the bad things she imagined Moira's boss was calling her about, that hadn't quite been one of them.

"He can't do that, can he?" asked Charles.

"My boss doesn't want to, he doesn't trust him, but he's got an immense amount of pressure," she said, "He needs me there to help make the case for not turning it over to Stryker, to let him know it's not a national security issue."

"If the CIA's investigating it, then it qualifies as one though, doesn't it?" asked Mystique.

Moira turned to her, almost as though she was surprised she was still there. It made Mystique jut her chin up, her eyebrows quirked in question. She wasn't going to be forced out of something this important just because her brother and his lover wanted some alone time.

"Yes, in a sense," said Moira, "But not to the level where Stryker would get involved. Most of these were international cults we were keeping an eye on to be safe. But that's...not all of my research."

"What else is there?" Charles asked.

"Just...almost all of the research done on the mutant gene for the past twenty years, published and unpublished," she said, "Charles, there's even confiscated Nazi files in there."

"What?" Mystique snapped, "Why the hell would you have that?"

Moira ran another hand through her hair.

"Because it was still research, and as long as I had it, I knew no one else did. It helped prove some of the things geneticists were nervous to publish, things they'd come by through legitimate means," Moira said, "How certain mutations which damaged the nervous system could be managed to lessen pain-"

"They're Nazis!" Mystique said, "Did you find Erik in there?"

"No, I didn't," said Moira, "It wasn't like-"

"This is getting out of hand," Charles said, "Moira, we can't let him get his hands on that. Not if we can help it."

"I know that," Moira replied.

She knelt down in front of Charles, taking both his hands.

"He needs me there by seven," she said, "I don't know...I don't know when this is going to be resolved Charles. It sounds like Stryker wants this bad. He also wants all the details on Nur, what I saw, what I have. He can't get this."

Charles stared at her, desperate. One of his hands reached out, cupping her cheek.

"Moira...please...I..." he murmured.

There was a heartbeat, and then Charles swallowed.

"Of course," he said, "You...you need to go. Go get ready. I'll...I'll get Peter or...I'll get someone."

"Charles-"

"We don't have a lot of time to lose," said Charles, "You'll need to explain to Kevin and I'll need...we should, we should get moving."

Moira looked at him, her eyes shining. Mystique felt uncomfortable, an outsider. She looked away as Moira leaned in, kissing Charles.

"I'm coming back," she said.

"Stay safe," he pleaded.

Mystique didn't hear Moira's reply, didn't see what she did, but she heard her gather up her clothes, talking about going into one of the communal restrooms to change before she went back to her room. Moira moved past her, looking angry, determined, sad.

When the door shut Charles rubbed his head in his hands. The situation, the discomfort of the past few minutes, it weighed on Mystique and, before she knew what she was doing, she spoke.

"Finally thinking this through now, are we?"

"Raven, not now," said Charles.

She probably should've stopped but, in all honesty, she couldn't stop. She'd known this would happen.

"Look, Charles, face it," Mystique said, "She's a CIA agent. One of their mutant experts, the one who witnessed everything that went down with Nur. She goes missing for a week and you don't think anyone is going to start asking questions?"

"She said she was sick," he said.

"Yes, and that excuse hasn't lasted very well, now has it?" said Mystique.

He looked away again and Mystique sighed.

"This always happens," she said, "You don't think things through to the end. You always just think about the most positive outcomes. You wanted Moira here, so you figured it wouldn't be a big deal if we just squirreled away a CIA agent. We'd be able to take care of her, yeah. She'd be able to stay, no problem."

"I need you to stop," Charles said.

"Look, you have to face the facts-"

"Why do you have to do this?" snapped Charles, "Why is it so important for you to get me to say that letting her come here was a mistake? That I should've separated her from her son? Why is it so important to you to have me say I should've left her in Virginia?"

The bitterness and exhaustion in the words almost floored her. Charles had his head bowed, his fingers digging into the armrest of his wheelchair. He looked up, and Mystique found herself staring into a well of pain, of defeat.

"Because I won't Raven," he said, "I never will."


	20. Chapter 20

"No! You promised! You said we'd stay!"

Kevin's words came out shrill, but he couldn't help it. He'd gone to bed that night, dreaming that the next months, next year, was going to be good, that everything would be fun and fine.

Now his mom was telling him that, no, it wouldn't be. She'd already thrown a few of her things into a bag, her wallet, her cards, things she would need if she wasn't going to be here. And she wasn't. After everything, she wasn't going to be there.

"Kevin, I don't want to," she begged.

"Then don't!" Kevin said, "Don't take me away from this! Please mom!"

She swallowed, sitting down next to him. Instinctively, he moved closer, looking at her with all the pleading he could muster. They couldn't leave, not with everything going so well for them.

He'd tried for so long to pretend that it was okay when she left, to put on a facade. But it wasn't, it never was. He'd convinced himself to be patient, because he knew his mother loved him, that she would never leave unless she absolutely had to. He had to be understanding. It wasn't fair of him not to be.

When she said she was going to stay at the school with him, he'd thought that his patience had been rewarded. Now this. It was like being shown the best gift ever, told it was for him, getting to touch it, then having it snatched away.

"Kevin," she said, "I...this is...this might not be the best time for you to go back to Virginia."

For a few seconds, he was puzzled. Was she taking it back, deciding to stay? What an odd way to admit to doing so though. And then, the words clicked, moved in his head, and he knew what was really going on.

"No!" he said, "Mom, don't do this again. Don't leave me!"

"I have to," she said.

Tears were in her eyes, but he ignored them. Tears were in his eyes too, but it wasn't changing anything. Why should her tears change things when his weren't? It wasn't fair, and he hated that.

"No, you don't," said Kevin, "Stay here."

"You have to listen to me," she said, "Kevin, I wouldn't leave you. You know that, not without coming back. But this is...this could really hurt a lot of people if I don't do something."

"That's always it, isn't it?" snapped Kevin, "You're always looking out for other people. You always care about them and it's never about me!"

His mother drew away like he'd physically slapped her, but Kevin couldn't stop.

"Why are you always so selfish?" he said, "Why can't you ever just do what I want, care about me just a little bit more. It's good here!"

She looked at him, full of anguish, full of hurt, and reached out for him. He wanted her to hug him, to stroke his hair and say everything was going to be okay. Almost as much as he was angry at her, but not quite enough.

He jerked away, crossing his arms. She closed her eyes and looked down at the floor.

"Kevin, love," she said, "I don't have any choice."

Kevin looked at her, frantically trying to think of a way he could stop this. Nothing was working, and, with his anger still burning through his head, he thought of Jean and Charles's lessons.

"I could make you stay," he said quietly.

Slowly, his mother opened her eyes. He clenched his fists in the blanket, letting out a deep breath.

"I know how," said Kevin.

She turned to look at him, but she wasn't angry. He'd been expecting angry or defiant. Instead, she was giving him an even, tired look.

"Would you really want that?" she asked, "Someone who stays with you just because they have to, not because they think it's the right thing? If people are dying? If they don't have a choice?"

Shame built within him. Charles had told him it was wrong to use his gifts to hurt others, to eavesdrop, to take away their privacy. Now he was threatening his own mother with them. What kind of son did that make him?

The tears that had been building in his eyes finally spilled over.

"I just want you to stay," he said.

"Me too," she said.

Sobs shook his body, and he curled up. His mother moved and took him in her arms. He clung to the front of her shirt, wishing he really could keep her with him. But the only way he knew how to was wrong.

"I'm sorry," he cried, "I'm so sorry mom. I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

"I'm sorry too," she said, "Kevin, this isn't what I meant to happen when I told you what I wanted to do yesterday. This wasn't what I expected."

"Take me back to Virginia with you," he said, "Please..."

"Kevin, it might not be safe."

"So you get to go do dangerous things, but I don't?" he asked.

A small chuckle bubbled up from her chest, and Kevin snuggled in tighter, already knowing what it was she would tell him.

"You're my son, and I'm your mother," she replied, "Besides, I'm very good at keeping alive in impossible situations."

Her lips kissed the top of his head, and he closed his eyes.

"But you are my son, and I need to do what's best for you," she said, "Whether or not I like it."

She pulled away slightly, forcing a smile on her face.

"And I'll be back before too long," she said, "Just, study up in the meantime, and don't drive Charles insane. He'll be looking after you while I'm gone."

"I won't," Kevin mumbled, "He's pretty cool."

"So you like him?" she asked.

He nodded. He could still remember the warm, comforting feeling in his head as Charles found him in the woods. That safe, calm feeling was still wrapped around Charles, like a suit of armor he extended to those who came into contact with him.

One day, Kevin wanted that.

"Kevin...now might not...maybe...but there's something I think you should know before I go."

His mother looked so worried he couldn't help but frown. What was going on?

"I just...Charles, as you know, Charles and I are close," she said.

"He told me once you knew him from years and years ago," Kevin said, "And that you met not that long ago again."

"Yes, that's right," his mother said, "But, there's...well...back then...this is kind of difficult to say actually."

"You could think it, and I could hear you," Kevin suggested, confused.

She looked so alarmed at the idea that Kevin decided not to repeat his offer.

"On this particular subject, you might not want to go listening to my thoughts," she said, "You might...I don't know, pick up a memory. I'd prefer if you didn't in this case."

"Why not?" asked Kevin.

"You'll understand when you're older," she said, "But...Kevin..."

She reached out, almost idly brushing some hair away from his shoulder.

"Charles and are together," she said.

He squinted and shook his head.

"He's not in my head mom," he said, "I don't think he's in yours. I mean, if I couldn't, then I don't think he'd be allowed to."

"Not that kind of together," she said.

"Oh," Kevin said.

Words to describe what he was thinking, what he thought she meant, were there. They were just too jumbled, bouncing off the walls of his head, trying to form but then disappearing and scattering.

He finally decided on something, just because he needed to know for sure.

"Jane Austen together?" he ventured.

"Yes," his mother said.

Her hand rested on his shoulder, almost nervously.

"How do you feel about that?" she asked.

Kevin paused. How did he feel about that? Everything he'd said about Charles was true, and it was still true now that his mother told him what she felt about him. It was just a strange concept, the idea of the two of them being together.

It wasn't like it was just out of the blue. Maybe they'd been together once upon a time, but, like Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth, something had happened to separate them. They were very similar, and they were both so kind. It always felt nice when they were all together.

But still. The only one he'd known his mother to be with like that was his father, and that was hardly Jane Austen. The times he'd seen him hurt her were ingrained in his memory, like ugly scars that he didn't want to show anyone. He'd been happy when his mother told him that his father was going to jail, where they locked them away from them.

His father, he'd been told, would never hurt her again. And life had cleared up some. The lawyers, which had been the first to come, were gone, no one asking him pointed questions about his home life, or if he minded how much his mother worked. Maybe that had been the first time he'd started lying about it, both to himself and others. If they thought anything was wrong, they might not let him stay with her. He wasn't completely stupid. It was so long ago that he wasn't sure though.

And then his father had really hurt his mother, had put her in the hospital. And they used something called a violated restraining order, and what they said was "assault," and they put him away. It had been two years, and he was where he couldn't make life difficult for them.

Charles though. He tried to imagine Charles hurting his mother, tried to imagine him doing what his father had done. He couldn't, and not just because he was in a wheelchair, making it impossible for him to kick her or get up suddenly and slam her face into the table. It just wouldn't happen.

It was that aura of calm, of kindness. It was the fact that, even though he hadn't known him for too long, Kevin knew he wasn't like that. He cared, didn't seem to have the same air of threat that his father had.

And, as far as whether or not Charles cared about his mother, well, he'd gone after her son with his mind, hadn't he? Surely that meant something, didn't it? It would've had to. Charles was a kind person, but he'd done so much for her, for them. That was a form of love. It had to be.

"Good," he said, "I think. I mean...I think good."

"Really?" asked his mother.

Kevin looked up at her, saw how relieved, how happy she was. He couldn't remember her ever looking like that when they talked about his dad. Maybe she had once, long ago, but that was before his memory began.

"You really care about him, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes, yes I do Kevin," she said.

"Then, yeah, good," said Kevin.

She smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

"I know he's going to take good care of you when I'm gone."

And there it was, the reminder that she was going to leave. Kevin looked around the room, biting his lip.

"Do you know when you'll be back?" he asked.

"As soon as I can," she said.

His heart sank. She didn't know. Kevin didn't have it in him to get angry again, not after everything. So he just hugged her as tight as he could.

"Hurry back," he said.

"Of course," she murmured.


	21. Chapter 21

Moira was feeling exhausted, both emotionally and physically, by the time Peter got her back to her house. She had another hour before she had to get to work, and it wasn't enough time to sleep or do much more than try to get herself presentable.

Feeling defeated, she looked at her watch. At that point she was running on around three hours of sleep, tops. It had been a long time since she'd had to pull something like that.

Moira looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, at her bloodshot eyes, at the dark circles beginning to form. Putting on makeup didn't seem worth the effort, but she had to at least look like she was trying to ensure that no one knew anything was wrong. At least it would help sell her story of being sick.

Picking out a crisp blouse with a pair of pants, she changed. When she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she saw the her from around a week ago staring back at her. It was an exhausted version, but it was still her.

She hated it. So much had changed in a week, and it had felt like things were going in a different direction. Yes, she had thought she would have to go back eventually, smooth out her resignation and tie up any loose ends, but she hadn't thought it would be so soon.

But it had been, and Moira had never been one to regret her past. Not if there was a path she had yet to trod. Regrets didn't help you lift up your feet, get you moving any faster.

So she finished and walked down the stairs. Peter looked up at her. It was obvious he'd been browsing through her magazines in varying degrees of interest. It wasn't like him to stay still for long.

Peter continued to watch her, shifting from foot to foot, as she began looking for her necessary clearance cards. She didn't know exactly what he wanted to say, if he wanted to say anything at all. Moira didn't quite understand him.

"I need to start driving," she said, running a hand through her hair.

"Okay, so I'm shotgun, right?" asked Peter.

She shook her head.

"You're not coming with," she said, "I'm not letting you into CIA headquarters-"

"No, just like, the outside," said Peter, "Professor told me I'm supposed to make sure you get there safely and stuff."

She raised her eyebrows and Peter gave a shrug.

"Hey, I'm an X-man," said Peter, "I'm supposed to be following his orders, right? And he wanted to make sure nothing bad happens, and, you know..."

He shrugged again and Moira pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn't know whether what Charles was doing was sweet or overkill. Yes, she was about to face someone she could only describe as a maniac, but it would be in the CIA compound. He'd hardly kill her there, and Moira knew not to let herself get into a situation where she was completely alone with him.

However, she knew she'd need to save her energy and venom for Stryker. Besides, if it made Charles feel a little more comfortable letting her go for a while when all he'd ever known before was loss, then it would be worth it.

She could still remember the desperation with which he'd told her to be careful. It was frightened in a way that Kevin's goodbye hadn't been. Kevin was, after all, used to her going into dangerous situations and coming back. He was worried she'd get hurt, he had seen her in the hospital, and knew she might not come back.

But, at the end of the day, she always had, so Kevin had that assurance. Charles didn't. When people left him, whether it was for the unknown or their own personal crusade, they rarely returned.

"Okay," she said, "But I'm driving at a reasonable speed and you need to go when I tell you."

"Can do," Peter said, giving her a thumbs up before disappearing in a blur.

She grabbed her keys, trudging tiredly to her car. Peter was already inside, tapping his hands on the door. Moira decided not to ask how he'd gotten in without the keys, or if he'd taken the keys in the first place and then put them back on the counter. It was, again, an energy saving measure.

And she had the feeling that, if she was going to live at the Institute, she would have to get used to some of Peter's stranger habits. And, however frustrating he was, Moira wanted to feel grateful for him running around on behalf of her and her son. He'd only just recovered from a broken leg. Hank had said he healed faster, but he'd been doing a lot of running lately and it probably hurt somewhat.

She settled for an irritated look before unlocking her door and getting in, revving up the engine. Moira was glad that she'd filled the car up before she left. It meant she wouldn't have to try and find an all-night gas station on the way.

Peter stayed silent for a few minutes as she drove out of the driveway and down the street. People were just starting to wake up, the road slowly turning before them. Next to her, Peter rolled the window down, letting in some of the fresh morning air.

"You and the Professor," he said, "You're a thing, right?"

She blinked a few times, giving him a side look. He just grinned at her.

"Hey, I ain't blind," he said, "Couple of us were wonderin. Jean, she said it wasn't any of our business-"

"Smart girl," said Moira.

"And, you know, probably not," said Peter, "But, if you two are or anything like that, which I'm pretty sure that you are for the record-"

"Peter," Moira said.

"-and I'd be willing to bet money on it, but Kurt's the only one who would and he's pretty much broke," he said, "But, here's my thing. So, your munchkin. Kevin."

The stress of the past few hours was starting to build to a boiling point. Munchkin? Her son?

"Just saying, he's a good kid," said Peter, "And, I'm pretty sure from some things he said, he doesn't have a dad. Dunno if he's dead or a jerk or what, but, what I'm getting at...what I'm getting at..."

Although it probably wasn't a good idea, Moira turned her head slightly to look at Peter. While he was asking incredibly personal questions, questions which she quite resented, the sudden awkwardness in his words struck her as strange. To her surprise she saw that Peter seemed to be struggling, the look in his eyes not quite there anymore.

Against her better judgement, she spoke. Peter was, even if he didn't act it, in his mid-twenties. While it felt like she was talking to a hyper-active teenager, he was an adult. And there was just something in the way he was talking.

"His father and I are divorced," Moira said, "And...because of his actions, he's not a presence in Kevin's life any more. And Kevin is actually happy about that. We both are."

Peter looked slightly abashed, rubbing the back of his neck. He swallowed once and then looked back at her.

"Look, I grew up with some dad issues," he said, "My mom's husband was kind of a jerk, and then I learned when I was older he wasn't actually my real dad, and that was kind of a mind blow."

He mimed an explosion near his head, making a strange noise out of the corner of his mouth.

"But like, I'm just trying to say, that I think Kevin's in good hands with the Professor, coz I don't think it's easy for you to leave him behind," Peter said, "And, I mean, we all get why you had to do that, but, he's gonna be taken care of. He's a nice kid. And if you and the Professor are together now, then that kid's gonna have one helluva father figure in the next few years."

She ducked her head. Moira remembered the way Charles would patiently answer the questions of any child to cross his path, would consider their questions instead of just dismissing them in the way adults could sometimes do. He had been made to be a father it seemed, but had been denied biological children. Now, he was acting as father to a schoolfull of children.

And then there was the way he treated Kevin, with such care. The two of them would smile or laugh at something the other had said using their gifts. Kevin not only liked Charles, he respected him, and she hoped he'd been sincere about everything he'd said before she left.

"I think so too," she muttered.

"Sweet! So you are a thing?" asked Peter.

Moira saw the walls around headquarters in the distance, and said a small prayer of gratitude.

"Alright, this is where you go back to New York."

"Awwwwww!"

"No 'aws,'" Moira said.

Peter snorted, but there was the sound of a car door moving next to her, and he was gone. She showed her security pass when she arrived, parking a few cars down from her usual place. It paid to be careful.

Moira was feeling much more awake after her conversation with Peter, although she had a feeling Charles was going to have a difficult time with the speedster when he returned.

She walked up the stairs, flashing her pass when she had to and heading toward her boss's office. She could just about hear snatches of conversation.

"-no, I told you she's going to be here in a few minutes. Agent MacTaggert's very punctual, so you can trust that."

Stryker was already here. She breathed in deeply, steeling herself. Moira had gone into tough situations before, had been humiliated, talked down to, forced to watch opportunities be given to others, but she had endured. She'd kept her knowledge and her expertise insulated, using it as her weapon in times of crisis, exploiting weaknesses and cracks when she came across them.

And the man behind the door had come into a meeting around a week ago, trying to do those very things to her after locking her in a cell with other innocents. He'd forced her to come back with very little preamble from a place where she and her son were just starting to find balance.

Moira pushed open the door, assuming a calm, questioning look. Her boss was seated at his desk, and just like she'd suspected, Stryker was there, looking grave and imposing. She'd fought against that before.

Her boss looked relieved to see her, but also concerned. It appeared that her looks really were selling her cover story.

"Sorry I didn't knock," she said, "I heard my name and came in."

"Good to see you again Agent MacTaggert," said Stryker.

"I honestly can't say the same," said Moira, "But I heard I needed to come back about some rather strange request to get all of my research?"

"After what happened a week ago, it's honestly in the best interest of the nation that we get all the information possible on the mutant threat," he said.

She crossed her arms.

"If I recall correctly, it was mutants who helped take Nur down," Moira said, "I think I know a thing or two about that."

"Yes, mutants. Including a terrorist who tried to kill the president," said Stryker, "Someone you let go."

"Now wait a minute colonel," her boss said, "I will say that, while I'm disappointed Agent MacTaggert didn't get Magneto, we both know the president's considering giving him a pardon for what he's done. And, in all the chaos of having someone that powerful get taken down, the collateral damage and possible injuries, I think we can probably allow for a little leeway."

"That's what you call it?" asked Stryker.

Her boss gave him a cold look.

"It's certainly what Trask called it when you failed to apprehend the mutants who crashed the 1973 Peace Accords and threatened the lives of several diplomats," he said.

Stryker's jaw tightened and Moira fought to hide a smirk. While her and her boss didn't always see eye-to-eye, she knew he was terribly protective of his agents and he, like her, didn't trust the man in front of them. If there was an agency rivalry in his words too, which she suspected, so much the better to make this work in her favor.

"Now, we're not here to trade insults," her boss said, getting up, "We're here to try and figure something out to satisfy everyone. And let's take this to the conference room. The day shift gets in soon."

He walked past the two of them, pushing the door open. He was only a few steps away and Moira moved to follow, but something stopped her. When she looked back, she saw Stryker was giving her a look that reminded her of a snake eyeing a mouse it was about to eat.

"You're not going to win this one MacTaggert," he said, "Just so you know."

She gave him a grim smile.

"I would literally rather die in that cell you locked me in that let you get my pencil shavings," she said.

Moira didn't wait for a reply before following her boss out.

"Just so you know."


	22. Chapter 22

"So I did it just like you said," Peter said, popping a marshmallow into his mouth, "And id wash fine. She god in do truddle. No truddle a all."

"Do not speak with your mouth full," said Charles impatiently, "It's disgusting, and, frankly, I can't understand."

Peter swallowed.

"Dude, she got in just fine," he said, "And, I could see the look on her face. She totally thought you were being overprotective, so you're gonna need like, lots of roses when she gets back."

Slightly irritated, Charles waved his hand. He knew he shouldn't be taking things out on Peter, but he was tired and the situation was less than optimum and Peter's need to comment was not being helpful.

Nor was the fact he was eating marshmallows Charles was fairly sure were meant for the campfire in two nights.

"So, anyway," Peter said, "Are you guys gonna get married or something?"

"Peter, not now," said Charles.

"Awww, come on," he said, "I really wanna bet money with Kurt on this. Maybe I can get Mystique in on it."

"My sister won't be interested, I can tell you that much," said Charles.

Peter popped another marshmallow in his mouth, chewing as he parted his lips to speak. Charles held up a disapproving hand and, rolling his eyes, Peter finished chewing and swallowing before he spoke.

"What's her deal with Moira?" he said, "Is it that she has a kid? Because Kevin's pretty cute. And he is so good at taking the security tags off things."

"Please refrain from stealing, and especially refrain from asking Kevin for aid," said Charles.

"But Jean won't do it!"

"Smart girl," said Charles.

Peter clapped his hands.

"There ya go!" he said, "That is exactly what Moira said about Jean. Same tone and everything! Meant to be."

He ate another marshmallow.

"But back to Kevin," said Peter, "I mean, he's a cool kid."

"He certainly thinks you're fun," said Charles, "Although, keep giving him slippers, and we might have to have a talk."

"He does?" Peter said cheerfully, "Great, great. I've always liked kids, right? I mean, I never wanted to grow up, but I wanted everything to speed up a little, you know? But kids just have this sense of adventure that a lot of adults don't have, myself included. All the kids in the neighborhood liked it when I got outta school. I coulda had my own gang by the time I was fifteen."

Another marshmallow made its way into Peter's mouth.

"And I always thought to myself, I'd...I'd..."

A shadow passed over his face, and Charles sat up straighter. Peter was rarely this serious about anything, and he'd already said more than a few sentences before cracking a joke.

"I always thought I'd make a damn good older brother," he mumbled.

Charles watched him for a minute or two as Peter glared sulkily into the bag full of marshmallows.

"Have you ever thought of becoming a teacher?"

Peter looked up, his mouth open slightly.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I'm serious," Charles said, "You love working with children and we need more people with that kind of fire."

The speedster looked down at his marshmallows, his eyes wide. His lips moved a few times and Charles realized that, somehow, he'd managed to render Peter speechless. Maybe it was the first time anyone had ever done that.

"I know you're studying general education right now," said Charles, "But, with a few tweaks, we can get you certified fairly quickly if we play our cards right."

"But, like, I'm not good at that academic stuff. It's boring and I blow things up," Peter spluttered.

"You're not the only one who's done that here, sad to say."

"I can't sit still."

"I have a few students who can't either," Charles said, "Might be good to find someone like them, teach them, oh, I don't know, English? History?"

"I spray painted my shoes silver!"

"Maybe art then?" suggested Charles, "You're certainly creative, not always in ways I approve, but the creativity is there, as is the passion."

Peter was still gaping at him, caught between shock and, if Charles wasn't fooling himself, a spark of yearning. The man in front of him didn't seem to be the type to ever turn down a challenge and perhaps the wheels in his brain were already turning. Could I do it? Would I be able to?

They were all questions he had once asked himself. He hoped Peter came to the same conclusions.

"Or physical education," Charles said. "If you could perhaps slow down a little when you teach children on the playground, then it could work."

He smiled as a thought occurred to him.

"Or maybe you could teach our youngest students," he said, "All different ages and learning levels in one room. Multiple subjects, juggling several things at once."

His smile grew and he rested his head on his hand.

"The more I think about it, the more it sounds right up your alley."

Peter gaped for a moment more, and then looked back down at the bag of marshmallows.

"Gonna need to think about it," he managed.

"Right," said Charles, "Let me know soon."

He pushed out from his desk.

"I've got to go take care of some things," he said, "And, Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"You owe us a new bag of marshmallows. And bring me the receipt."

* * *

Kevin lay on his back on the window seat, a book brought so close to his eyes that it seemed like the words were swallowing him. He'd forced himself to pick it up after his mother left, too many emotions in his head to do almost anything.

His mother was gone. He didn't know when she was coming back. There was some sort of unnamed threat, something hanging over all of them. They wouldn't explain it though, not to him. He was, in their eyes, only eight. What did he know?

He frowned and looked at the words on the page, glaring at them. The glare allowed him to focus on the words and, for the first time, he realized that he'd picked up _Persuasion._

 _She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! Alas! She must confess to herself that she was not wise yet._

Kevin snapped the book shut and rolled over on his side. The sun was just barely risen in Westchester, and he could see the early morning mists clouding over the grass. The sun was tinting it slightly golden, but, for the most part, it was silver.

He curled up tighter on himself and closed his eyes. He was tired, but he didn't think that he'd be able to sleep any time soon. Kevin could feel that he was wide awake, his entire body on alert. Tired, but on alert.

Tears came to his eyes. It was supposed to be perfect now that they were there. Kevin was going to find friends, and his mother was going to get a normal job. He'd conquer his mutations, and she would be happy with Charles.

The last one was a recent addition to his list of expectations, but it was still a sincere one. Charles might be able to make his mother happy in a way that no one else could. They could be happy, not like his mother had been with his father.

He looked down at the book, which had fallen open on a random page.

 _When any two young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, be they ever so poor, or ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely to be necessary to each other's ultimate comfort._

Kevin turned and looked out the window, squeezing his eyes shut again. He wanted things to be back to the way they were yesterday. He wanted things to go back to when they were hopeful.

He heard what sounded like movement and turned his head. The room was darker, and Scott and Jean were at the table, working on homework. Scott had said something that startled Jean.

Scott just shook his head and looked down at his textbook.

"Don't give me too much credit," he said, "Eighth grade English was pretty brutal."

"Kevin?"

Kevin blinked, and Scott and Jean were gone. Charles was coming around the doorway, looking concerned. Feeling confused, Kevin pushed himself up, wondering if Charles could see the tears on his cheeks.

They felt cold, so he probably could.

"Are you alright?" Charles asked, "I could've sworn someone else was in here too."

There was a pause, and Kevin looked down at the book. He wanted to lie, he really did, but there was no point. Charles could see his tears, and Kevin felt too exhausted to try and carry the point.

The sound of wheels on the floorboards made him look up. Charles was opposite him, his hands in his lap, giving him a frank look.

"It's alright to be upset," he said.

"It was supposed to be better," blurted Kevin, "We were gonna be happy here."

"And you still will be," Charles said, "Listen...it may be difficult to see this, but this will not last forever. Maybe a few weeks, maybe a month, maybe two, but she will come back for you."

Kevin pulled his knees up to his chest.

"She always comes back for me," he muttered.

"There you are," said Charles.

"It's just...I was looking forward to how things were gonna be," said Kevin.

"And they will be," Charles said, "I know she's working as hard as she can to come back soon."

Although it was faint, Kevin thought there was a touch of wistfulness in Charles's tone. He put his head on his knees.

"I just miss her already," Kevin admitted, "And I know I'm gonna miss her really bad over the next few days."

He looked at Charles, at the way he was looking at him with that same calmness, that same look that everything was going to be okay. He wanted to believe that, but he didn't think Charles was as calm as he looked.

"I know you miss her too," said Kevin.

Charles looked startled, but Kevin just shrugged.

"Mom told me about you two before she left," he said, "She told me she wanted to do it differently, but she thought I should know."

"She does tend to know best," Charles said weakly.

Kevin cocked his head as Charles cleared his throat. When he realized what was going on, Kevin figured he should probably put an end to it.

"I'm not upset," said Kevin, "You're not gonna hurt her, and you're nice. I think you make her happy."

"I certainly hope I do," Charles said, "But, Kevin, how do you feel?"

"I said I'm not upset."

"That's not the same as being alright with something," Charles said.

Kevin frowned and bit his lip.

"You're not gonna hurt her," he said, "You're not gonna be like my father, and that's good."

"I'll never hurt you either," Charles said, "You do know that, don't you?"

He blinked. He'd never even thought about the possibility of Charles hurting him, of him having much to do with it at all. His mother had talked to him about it, but it was something she was doing, not him.

Charles looked down at his hands for a moment before looking back at Kevin.

"Kevin, I had a stepfather growing up," he said, "A man in my life standing where it seemed my father should be. While I don't remember my father as being good or bad, I remember my stepfather being either cruel or pretending I didn't exist. And I told myself, when I get older, if I'm ever around children, I will never be like that. If I'm with a woman, and she has children, I'll treat them right, because I'm a part of their lives as well as hers."

His words made Kevin grip his legs tighter. His nails bit into his flesh, and his eyes watered again.

"So, here I am," Charles said, "Asking if you'll let me be part of your life."

Kevin started openly crying. He felt like a baby, crying twice in the past few hours, but Charles just put a hand on his shoulder. It was more than his own father had ever done for him in his memory. To him, he'd been a disappointment, Kevin knew that much.

But someone was actually asking if they could be part of his life. Not that it really mattered.

"You already are," murmured Kevin, "And I'm glad."


	23. Chapter 23

"I don't think we're gonna find much precedent Moira."

She rubbed her temples, trying to fight the urge to panic, or to throw something. Whichever came first.

"Levine, lots of agencies have fought requests like this before," she said, "It's the same basic principal. We just need to find a good, airtight reason to refuse Stryker."

"Well, how about you locked a CIA agent up with absolutely no right, proof or jurisdiction, you're an asshat, and so was your father?" suggested Levine.

She smiled, but there was still a sinking pit of despair in her gut. She'd spent the entire day trying to explain to senators why it was a bad idea to give all her research to Stryker, that there wasn't any point, that it wasn't his jurisdiction, that she wasn't even looking at mutants who were threats.

"These cults are all humans who either worship mutants or think they need to be exterminated," she'd told them, "As far as I can tell, none of them have any mutant members. For the most part mutants, especially young ones that I've talked to, are pretty much frightened of their powers."

"Just how many mutants have you talked with Agent MacTaggert?" asked Stryker.

She'd glared at him, but her words seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. There had been so much argument against her and, while she'd faced overwhelming odds before, it hadn't been like this. There was more at stake now, her own son was tied up in this, and there seemed to be so many people allied against her.

"For some reason I don't think they'll accept that with a lot more proof," she said, "And, unfortunately, being an asshat doesn't count."

"It should."

Sighing heavily she looked down at the papers, the words starting to swirl before her.

"You know you're going to come through this, right Moira?" asked Levine, "You always do."

Moira smiled again, this one much more forced. Levine had always had unshakeable faith in her, had allowed his own career to be held back because he'd refused to have a different partner. And while there'd been plenty of unsavory office chatter about that, she knew that, unlike so many others in the office, Levine had respected her. He'd refused to abandon her.

The man across from her had been her partner on many difficult missions. Toward the end of their careers things had started to go their separate ways, hers twining her forever to mutants, his in other directions. They always made time to meet for coffee though, to talk about lives and family. He'd been her friend, a brother she'd never had, an eventual uncle to her son.

If, on occasion, it blinded him to the difficulties of a situation, then it was only a minor setback. Right now though, with her boss working to stall and Levine and her running out of ideas, it didn't seem to be enough.

She shifted through the papers on the table, looking through all the other precedents, as well as some of her own research for clues. While she intended on burning everything before she went back to the office, it had helped to bring the photo copies with her. It was also illegal, but it was probably small potatoes compared to letting Erik Lensherr go.

Most of it was going over Levine's head: he had never pursued the degrees which would help him understand the complicated data before him. His expertise lay in other areas.

In any case, the precedents, thus far, had proven to be frustrating. So many of them were tied to other missions, things that couldn't be unveiled to the public, or they couldn't risk other agencies getting wind of.

However, most of those were military operations. Through Stryker's connections to the military, he would be able to breeze through all such excuses. Besides, having any of this get tied to the military was the last thing she wanted.

If she was to tie this to anything, it had to be a very specific CIA mission, something her boss could stand behind. And it had to be done well. That way, even if Stryker suspected what she was doing, he wouldn't be able to prove anything. It had to be fool-proof.

"How's...how's Kevin doing at the school?" Levine asked.

She looked up, frowning at the change of topic. He shrugged.

"You looked like you needed a break," said Levine, "And I am actually pretty curious to know how he's getting on. All you told me was he was okay, and that's not much of an answer, honestly."

Moira sighed and crossed her arms.

"He's flourishing there Levine," she said, "You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm completely honest about this. He loves the place, wants to live there."

Levine looked at her for a moment more, shifting a few pieces of paper around.

"You're going to move there, aren't you?" he asked.

She paused, feeling blindsided. Levine just shook his head.

"The thought occurred to me shortly after you left," he said.

Moira swallowed, feeling nervous. Her former partner wasn't the biggest fan of Charles, and she didn't know how he was going to react to the news she was leaving. They'd been neighbors for years.

But, before she could speak, he held up a hand.

"Look, Moira," he said, "I know that Virginia hasn't been...great for you these past few years. And, with your son, you're probably gonna want to be in a place where you'll be able to give him the assistance and education he deserves. If you had any loyalty to your career, any belief you could keep all of this safe, it's probably going out the window right now with Stryker breaking down the door."

She stayed silent, still unsure where all of this was going.

"And, I get it, I really, really get it," he said, "I left when things started to get out of control on my end. I didn't like some of the people I was training, whether or not they were gonna fight communists. Just felt like I was a little lost, like there was something better I could be doing."

He shrugged.

"For me, that was coming back and running the old family business," Levine said, "Pillar of the community. On a couple volunteer committees. Respected. I'm dating Patricia right now. You know, the one who owns that bookshop?"

"Yeah, I know Patricia," Moira said, feeling a little dazed, "Levine, what-?"

"What I'm getting at is I want that same thing for you," he said, "I'm not just talking about having a family or some stuff like that. Getting married and having 2.5 children isn't all it's cracked up to be. But I want you to have fulfillment."

He straightened a few of the papers onto the table, smiling to himself.

"I still think Charles is kind of an asshat," he said, "But...I've known you for a long time Moira. You're not the kind of woman to make the same mistake twice."

"I'm not," she said fervently, "Levine, you don't...he's just..."

She bit her lip.

"When I look at him, I see a man who tries so hard to do what's right for everyone, even if it means hurting himself," Moira said, "And, yes, I did suffer from a decision he made. But, I think he really thought it was best for me. And, like it or not, he might've been right."

Levine made a face and Moira uncrossed her arms, splaying her fingers onto the table.

"Imagine that one of your agents has just come back from a mission, and not just any mission," she said, "You're looking at a situation that turned south very quickly, a botch that was only salvaged by beings you don't understand and can't control. You don't even know where to find them, but you know someone who does. And your right hand man is Stryker Sr."

Her old friend's look darkened, and Moira knew he understood.

"He'd already lost two people," she said, "I think he wasn't prepared to lose another. It's not who he is, not something he'd allow."

"Yeah, well, I hope he doesn't make any more noble decisions in the years ahead," muttered Levine, "You're talking like he's the only one who deserves to find happiness in someone."

She smiled at her friend, reaching over the table and clasping his shoulder.

"We're going to visit," she said, "Me and Kevin. As excited he is about moving there, he told me he would miss you. I can't have that."

Levine grinned and put his hand on her forearm, gripping it lightly.

"Nah," he said, "We can't."

He let go and Moira sat back down. An awkward silence fell, which Levine ended by clearing his throat.

"So," he said, "I think we might wanna get back to work. You know, to make up for all that break time. And to avoid things being strange."

Moira laughed and looked down at her papers. Despite the swell of optimism she'd had a moment before, the papers in front of her made her remember her old gloom. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to keep down the rising depression, the sense of failure.

She reached out, tidying up some of her research papers, just looking for something she could use. As she did, a small document caught her eye, both in terms of the date and the place. She frowned and pulled it out of the pile.

Moira read it again. It had been a small piece of research she'd collected a few years back, one she'd had to fight tooth and nail for. While it hadn't been the most important thing she'd collected, it had certainly proved an important building block when she'd gotten it. It had helped justify her speciality.

It had documented an artifact recovered in South America that, after the discovery of mutants, spawned a cult that had been growing exponentially at the time. The item, which she believed was likely locked up somewhere, had been photographed, detailed and, as in accordance with everything else, a report had been written.

But, over the years, she'd felt it slide from her memory. The cult had fallen to political strife. New discoveries were made, and she'd had much more difficult records requests. Some she had straight up given up on or had not existed and she'd gone into the field herself.

Why had this one been so difficult to get a hold of? She'd asked at the time, but no one seemed to be able to tell her. However, there was always a web of secrecy surrounding some of the records requests, and she'd had to put an end to her curiosity on this particular issue before it pushed her into insanity. Besides, there was a cult in Egypt she was just beginning to get data on.

And yet. She looked over the names on the document, citing the original collectors, the people who had gotten the artifact in the first place. She didn't know any of the people listed, and she was about to put it down. It was, after all, just another piece of research over a long career.

However, the name of the strike commander was vaguely familiar. He was listed as a CIA agent. She bit her lip but decided that, in their condition, all leads were worth following up on, no matter how inconsequential they seemed.

"Hey, Levine?" she asked.

"Mmmhm?"

"Do you know this guy?" she asked, passing the paper over to him and tapping on the name.

Levine furrowed his brow, then his eyes lit up in recognition.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, "Good guy. Died a couple years ago. Shame, but then again, he was in a pretty dangerous line of business. I was only on the periphery of some of that, only going to centers that had been set up, that kind of thing."

"You mean he trained anti-communist rebels," Moira said.

"Yep," said Levine, "Not surprised he was in South America here. It was kind of his specialty."

Moira stared at the document and, slowly, a smile spread over her face. It was the first true, unrestrained one she'd given in more than a day.


	24. Chapter 24

"Now, I know you're very nervous Kevin," said Charles.

"I'm not."

Charles gave him a mild look, and Kevin shifted his feet uneasily.

"Maybe a little nervous," he admitted, "But not very nervous. Very nervous is much more nervous than I am right now."

"I can see," said Charles.

He stopped his wheelchair a few doors down from the classroom Kevin was going to attend soon. He hadn't seen many other children his age around the school in his time there, but, true to Charles's word, he'd seen two slip into the classroom a minute earlier.

His palms started to sweat. In a classroom or twenty or thirty, he could disappear. He would only be remembered when he was odd or disconnected, just in time for a parent-teacher conference. Not long enough to stand out.

But there were only going to be six other kids in this class. That meant there wouldn't be anywhere to hide if he didn't want anyone to see him. He'd stick out like a sore thumb.

Charles clapped a hand on his shoulder.

 _It will be fine,_ he said, _The children in the classroom are just like you. No telepaths, but they all know what it's like to be different. There's no need to fear any of them. I want you to know that._

 _I know that,_ Kevin said, _I think._

 _Now that's an interesting paradox,_ chuckled Charles.

Kevin smiled at him, feeling something jittery starting in his stomach. Slowly, Charles began to guide him forward. The jittering intensified, growing into a fever pitch as Charles opened the door to the classroom.

It was absolutely crammed with children. For a brief moment, Kevin felt his spirits lift. This wasn't too bad. Charles had been wrong about the amount of children, but that wasn't such a big deal.

"Jaime, pull yourself together," Charles said.

Most of the children rolled their eyes collectively, and, as Kevin watched, they melted into one. Kevin blinked a few times, feeling confused. There were only six children left now.

They stared at him, and he couldn't help but stare back. One of them looked like a wolf, covered in thick, brown fur, with fangs. The boy who had just pulled himself together was wearing a striped shirt.

He saw a blonde boy in the corner leaning over a book, uninterested in the happenings around him. Another wblonde boy, but this one with blue eyes, stood at the front of the classroom. A girl with short, spiky black hair sat on top of the desk next to him.

Not that far away from him, he saw a girl with startling green eyes, with pink markings on her face and strands twining through her hair. She gave him a frank look, cocking her head.

"That's better," said Charles, "Where's Professor Singer?"

"Had ta go out," the blonde boy at the front of the class said.

"And he left you? Good grief," said Charles.

He sighed.

"Fine, I'll go see if I can find him in a minute," he said, "But for now, it looks like introductions fall solely to me."

He clapped his hand on Kevin's shoulder again.

"Now, this is Kevin MacTaggert," said Charles, "He's pretty new to the Institute, and this is his first day of school. Now, do you remember what I said to all of you on your first day of school?"

"Play nice," the girl with the spiky hair piped up.

"And?" asked Charles.

"Ta tell ya if anyone doesn't," the boy next to her said.

"That's right," said Charles, "Now, I know you all know how scary all of this was. So make a little room for Kevin, and make friends. A few more students and we might get a proper elementary going."

"I want to study with the older kids," the blonde boy with the book said.

"We're still setting up a test for that," Charles said, "Now, I'll be right back."

Kevin gave him a desperate look, but Charles just smiled.

 _You will be fine Kevin_ , he said, _And, if anything happens, you know how to contact me. Just give it a try._

Swallowing hard, Kevin watched him go. When the door shut behind him, Kevin turned back to the rest of the class. The blonde boy had never looked up from his book, not even when he was speaking. Most of the children were still watching him though, and Kevin tilted his chin up before taking a seat.

He put his schoolbag on his desk, trying not to think about the packed lunch that he knew wasn't in there. At the Institute, everyone went to the cafeteria. It wasn't a big deal, but he missed that sandwich. And that note.

The blonde boy from the front of the class walked up, followed closely by the girl with spiky hair.

"Hi," the boy said.

Kevin looked up at him, and the boy grinned. He was missing a tooth.

"Mah name's Sam," he said, "Ah'm seven. Are ya seven?"

"Eight," Kevin said, feeling taken aback by his accent.

"I am Xuan," the girl said, "I am also eight, but I shall be nine soon."

Her pronunciation was slow and deliberate. Her speech pattern seemed even stranger than Sam's. Kevin had to stop himself before he frowned. Kids her age, their age, didn't talk like that.

At the same time, he knew he wasn't there to make fun of the children around him. Besides, he could read people's minds. What did he know about how they spoke? His mom sounded a little strange when she spoke different languages. This was probably like that.

"I'm Kevin," he said instead.

"Yes, this I heard," said Xuan, "The Professor said so."

It took Kevin a minute to realize she meant Charles. He'd heard Jean and the others call Charles that, but he hadn't really thought to much about it. Was he really the only one who called him Charles?

"Booooring," the wolf boy said, walking up and shoving Sam out of the way with his shoulder, "Let's get the kidsie questions outta the way. So, what can you do?"

The interruption startled Kevin for a minute, and his mind went to the way his teacher would walk up to his desk.

"Hey, give Kev a break," Sam said, "He just got here."

"Yeah, whatever hillbilly," the boy said, "What can you do?"

The question, and the tone, was starting to really irritate Kevin.

"I um," he said, frowning and looking between the wolf boy and Sam, "Nothing much I guess."

"Come on, show!"

"I really don't think-" Kevin began.

"What, you scared?" the boy crowed.

"Stop being the fool," said Xuan.

"Show!"

"I can read minds and move stuff without touching it," Kevin said, "There, you happy?"

The wolf boy blinked at him a bit, and then started laughing.

"You mean you're like that weird redhead? Are you two related or something?"

"Who are you talking about?" asked Kevin.

"You know, the scary one who shakes the house," the boy said, "The one who talks inside your head."

Kevin gaped.

"Jean?" he asked.

"Is that her name?" asked the boy, "I heard she came here from a psych ward."

Anger was boiling up in his stomach. Kevin was used to people trying to make him angry, to get a rise out of him. Not like this though. Sometimes they'd say his parents were divorced, which he didn't understand. That had been a good thing for him, and they were trying to tease him about it. Why should he care?

He didn't mind when they called him slow or stupid, or weird, because Kevin didn't think he was any of those things. But there was something about the way he was talking about Jean that got under his skin. She was his friend.

"Yeah, coz you're the only one stupid enough to believe that," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"And like you know so much better?" asked the boy, "So, 'Kevin,' you two related? I mean, your hair's kinda blondish brown, but maybe you are."

He put his hand down on the table, and the book bag fell to the floor, spilling its contents out. Kevin began levitating them back in, using a trick Jean had taught him. However, he wasn't very fast at it yet.

"Aw man, is that a girl's book?"

Kevin looked down at his books. _Persuasion_ was still in there. He'd thought that he'd returned it to the library.

"Hah, you two are related," the boy said, "You're like her little sister or something."

"Books aren't for girls or boys," Kevin snapped, "They're for everyone!"

"You gonna put your hair in pigtails now?" asked the boy, "Gonna change your name? Kevina?"

He wanted to say something biting back, Kevina wasn't even a name, but something crept to the back of his head.

 _Why are you crying? Are you a little girl? Did I get a daughter instead of a son? Get up!_

"Stop it," Kevin said.

"Why, something wrong Kevina?"

 _I said get up!_

"Dude, stop it," Sam said, putting a hand on the wolf boy's shoulder, "Why are ya bein such a jerk? It's his first day and everythin!"

 _What did you say?_

The wolf boy shook Sam's hand off his shoulder. Kevin could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, his hands clenched into fists. He watched as the wolf boy went to shove Sam, push him backward so he fell to the ground.

 _Say that again!_

He was angry. He wanted to do something before the wolf boy did something to Sam. Make him stop. Maybe he could break his fingers, throw him into a wall, make him see something terrible in his head. He could stop him.

 _Say it! Say it you miserable excuse for-!_

 _Kevin! Kevin, what's wrong?_

Kevin sat up straighter. Charles. Where was he? As he looked around, he saw the wolf boy's hands move out, an inch away from shoving Sam. Kevin, whipped around, focused, and raised a pair of trembling fingers.

The wolf boy jerked back, pulled by the strength of Kevin's telekinesis. He looked up, shocked, but Kevin kept pulling him away, even as the boy knocked over a chair, flailing, back and back.

Only when he was at the far end of the classroom did he stop, setting him down with a thump.

"Grow up," Kevin snapped.

The boy snarled, but then the door opened. Charles was there, looking concerned, a man standing behind him. Kevin held his breath as Charles's eyes flickered around the room, at the furious boy in the back, at the way Sam and Xuan were staring.

 _Kevin, what happened? I felt...you felt upset._

 _I didn't know you could feel that,_ said Kevin, surprised, Y _ou weren't close to me at all, and I didn't reach out._

 _Normally I can't, but I was checking in,_ said Charles, _I'm glad I did. Kevin...I saw...Kevin, are you alright?_

Kevin looked back at the boy, at Xuan and Sam. The boy was still angry, but Xuan didn't seem bothered, even giving him a small smile. Same just winked at him, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

 _I think I'll be fine,_ he said slowly, _I think._

 _Do you want to talk?_

Professor Singer walked up to the front of the class and took a seat. Everyone filed to their desks, and Kevin took his clenched fists off the desk.

 _I don't think so,_ he said, _I'll let you know after class._

 _I...I see. Alright Kevin. But let me know if you need me._

Kevin nodded, and Charles left the room. As the teacher began talking, Kevin bit his lip. He still remembered that feeling when he had seen what was happening, what the boy was going to do to Sam, who had only tried to help.

The problem wasn't what he had decided to do, to pull him to the back of the classroom. The problem was that, until he'd felt Charles in his head, he'd wanted to do something much different.

And if Charles hadn't been in his head, he wasn't sure if he would've just moved the boy away.


	25. Chapter 25

Moira gathered up her papers and sat down at the conference table. People were slowly filing in, mostly CIA personnel. They were her co-workers and, to some extent, she considered many of them her friends.

She'd arranged it so they would be there first. While Charles was, of course, overthinking this and too worried about her, she wasn't an idiot either. Stryker had shown himself willing to use extreme methods, but she didn't think he'd risk these many witnesses.

As she finished getting settled, Stryker walked in, two senators behind him. He saw her and gave a thin-lipped smile. Again, that look of a snake and a mouse. She forced herself to show a neutral expression as he walked over.

"Well MacTaggert," he said, "I hope you don't bear me too much ill will over this. I've been informed the process will go quicker if you cooperate and explain your filing system to me."

He leaned on her chair.

"I wouldn't want the working atmosphere to be too hostile," he said.

"Awfully confident," Moira said.

His smile broadened.

"I have quite a few members of the different security teams on my side," he said, "At this point, why, it might be considered un-American not to share what you found."

"Fine words coming from you," she said, "Civil liberties violations ring a bell?"

"Harsh," he said, "But still, no hard feelings, right?"

She looked up at him, and grinned while narrowing her eyes.

"No," she said, "I hope you don't have any."

He frowned, but her boss came in, followed by the last few guests at the meeting. Still frowning, Stryker walked away and took his seat. Moira could tell he was staring at her, but she had let her expression slide back to neutral.

He would get no more warning about what was to come.

"Ladies and gentlemen," her boss said, "I felt we needed a progress report on Agent MacTaggert's research. Now, last I checked, Colonel Stryker was still interested in an inter-agency lending of her research."

"More like taking it and re-purposing, but yes," Stryker said, still looking at Moira, "As far as I can tell, it's just gathering dust. We could actually make it into something useful."

Her boss gritted his teeth. She knew he was struggling not to blow his top. Perhaps she should have told him what she was about to do, but the only person she had trusted with this was Levine. Moira couldn't risk Stryker finding out somehow before it was time.

As much as she disliked him, he was smart. If he'd known what was coming, he might find some way to counteract it.

"MacTaggert, any final words on the subject?" her boss asked.

There was a hint of pleading in his voice. To him, she knew it wasn't about the mutants. It was about the gross insult being paid to his agency, to one of his senior agents. It was his dislike of Stryker, and a million other little things.

Well, she was about to give him something he could keep himself warm with in future years whenever he saw Stryker or anyone else involved. She would consider it an early retirement gift to him.

She got up, drawing herself up to her full height.

"Yes," she said, "I've been going through my files, and I've found that, unfortunately, giving them out to any other agency would actually be illegal. Probably even within the confines of our own agency."

Murmurs spread throughout the table and Stryker's eyes narrowed. Her boss frowned, but she raised a hand.

"Now, I can't divulge all of this," she said, "But I know some of you here in this room are familiar with the Cyttorak mission?"

A few startled glances were exchanged, while others had a sense of mild apprehension. Good. It confirmed no one in the room was under the impression it was a humanitarian mission that originated in South America and then extended, following a trail that led to Korea.

It was certainly the message the press had disseminated at the time, what few people inside the CIA had bought. Most of them knew it was a mission by the CIA to train rebels to fight communists in other countires. However, from what she'd been able to glean, both from the redaction, and Levine's identification of some of the other names, it had been a bit heftier than that.

How much heftier she wasn't sure, her clearance didn't go that high, but one man had started sweating. It meant that her half-truth was working, and she knew there were a few careers in the room that were depending on this staying secret.

It would only make things that much easier.

"Now," she said, "early on in my career I managed to gain a report compiled on a particular cult in that area of the world. It was obtained during that mission and, using it, I was able to match up several different theories, and even see where certain cults got their roots. It spider webbed throughout my work, a building block. In fact, my research doesn't even make sense without it."

Something of an exaggeration, yes, but not by too much, and a necessary one. One of the more senior agents leaned forward, looking thoughtful.

"If memory serves," he said, "that mission, and everything pertaining to it, is under embargo for the next fifteen years."

"Yes," Moira said, "It is. The only people who can use it are, in fact the CIA, and only if they have very high clearance."

"MacTaggert," her boss said, his voice low, "I had no idea. We might need to lock all that up now."

His voice was low and regretful, but Moira would need it locked up and sealed. At least for now. The rest of the world didn't know how to use it, to respect it. Maybe in fifteen years they would.

Or maybe, when this blew over, she'd ask Peter for a favor.

"Understood sir," she said.

Her boss gave her an admiring look before clearing his throat.

"People weren't supposed to get files from Cyttorak," he said, "How did you even get yours?"

"Perhaps someone underestimated it," Moira said.

"I object to this," snapped Stryker, "You've been fighting us from the beginning. How do we know that you didn't just make this up to keep us from getting what we need?"

"Colonel Stryker, you will behave or you will be removed from this room," her boss snapped.

Moira cocked her head, and gave Stryker another smile. He was fuming, furious, flabbergasted. It was a good look on him.

"If I made it up, then I don't suppose there's any way an agent like me who didn't participate in any special ops would know that the name of the strike leader was Cain Marko," she said.

If possible, the faces in the room became a shade paler.

"Agent MacTaggert!" one of the agents roared, "Hold your tongue! That's a state secret!"

"He's right, minus the yelling," her boss said, "MacTaggert, you've proved your point. From this moment on, please refrain from discussing any more classified information, even if that particular piece of information is already known to everyone here."

She nodded, inwardly pleased. Stryker was grinding his teeth together. She hoped he ended up damaging them, chipping them away into nubs. Maybe they were already rotten, like the rest of him.

The dentist bill would be enormous. It was a comforting thought.

"Now then," her boss said, "I hope you all know this means we can't hand over the research. There are parts of that mission, for safety's sake, that have to remain sealed. We can't jeopardize that, even if this information is as valuable as Colonel Stryker is making it out to be."

"This is ridiculous," Stryker said sourly, "Cyttorack was, to my knowledge, not about mutants. Whatever they found doesn't have to do with the overall mission."

"First off," her boss said, "anything that happened in that mission is classified. It's all sealed, even the names, as was so rudely pointed out a minute ago. So you can just shut down that stupid line of thinking right now."

"We could declassify some of it," suggested Stryker, irritated, "Parts of certain missions have been declassified in the past."

Moira got ready to speak, she had expected this sort of answer, but her boss didn't give her a chance. It seemed that, even in her own estimates, she'd failed to figure out just how furious he was at Stryker.

"Oh yes? Which part exactly?" her boss asked, "I'm not going to have you going through all of Agent MacTaggert's research to find that out and seeing things you're not supposed to. You don't have clearance, and you're not CIA. So, I'll have to ask you to refrain from touching bureau property until the seal expires. After that, we might talk."

Stryker looked at the two senators with him but, suddenly, they were looking very, very worried. She could almost sympathize with them. A few senior officials were glaring at them, no doubt wondering how they could hurt those two men for dredging up Cytorrack. In their minds the mission could have been exposed if she hadn't found this in time, and that could have destroyed them.

She watched the senators. They were out of their depth, trying to figure out just what they had stumbled on, how much trouble they were in. But, remembering why they were there, that it was because they had thrown their lot in with Stryker, she lost that sympathy.

"I'll lose out on a possible breakout in all this," said Stryker, "Fifteen years."

"Then maybe you need to hire smarter people," her boss said, "But this meeting is over. I don't know about the rest of you, but these past few days have been a giant headache. I'm getting lunch, right after I talk to Agent MacTaggert to iron out the details on sealing up her research."

He nodded to her, and she gathered her papers and got up. She didn't look behind her as she left, trying to keep up a professional facade. After she made it to her boss's office, once the door was closed, he whipped around and pounded on the desk.

"Brilliant," he laughed, "Brilliant. I can't believe you managed to pull that one out. Did you see that little bastard's face?"

"It was pretty good," Moira smiled.

"God, I'm sorry about your research, I am, but that was priceless," he chortled, sitting down.

"Maybe it's for the best," she said, "Especially given what I'm about to tell you next."

He raised an eyebrow, and Moira braced herself.

"I'm going to be handing in my retirement paperwork right after we're done here," she said.

Her boss gaped at her.

"But...but you won!" he said.

"Yes, and I'm tired of having to fight these battles," Moira said, "I'm tired of having to justify resources to get someone out of the country, of only going after the cults the agency decides sometimes instead of the ones I think are genuinely exploiting mutants."

"Agent MacTaggert-"

"I'm tired...tired of all this," she said, gesturing around her, "I think it's time I turned in my paperwork before I became spent."

Her boss looked at her for a long moment.

"I can't talk you out of it, can I?" he asked.

"No," Moira said, "I'll give you two weeks notice, but after that, I have to go."

He leaned back, looking at the ceiling.

"You've done good work MacTaggert," he said, "I can only hope you know what you're doing, and that you'll do good work wherever you're going next."

"Thank you sir."

"Don't thank me," he said, "I can't recall giving you much. But thank you for shoving this in that asshole's face, and thank you for your service."

She nodded briefly, knowing a dismissal when she heard it. Moira turned and walked out of the office, trying to hide the lightness in her step. Everything was going smoothly. She'd be back with Kevin and Charles at the Institute in two weeks.

As she walked toward her office, she moved past the conference room. Stryker was still there with the two senators, talking, but he stopped when she walked by. His expression once again became snake-like, but in a more calculating way.

And, despite her victory, she couldn't help but feel a shiver.


	26. Chapter 26

Kevin sat on the edge of his chair, staring blankly at his hands. He had the feeling he was in trouble. He wasn't exactly sure why that would be, he could easily say the other boy had started it. Sam and Xuan had certainly seemed happy with what he'd done. They'd had lunch together. It was nice.

And, if anything, he should be happy. His mom had called a few minutes ago, saying she'd be back in two weeks. She'd added that, when she came back this time, it would be for good. She was coming there, and the school would really be his home.

That had made him happy. Between having lunch with Xuan and Sam, he'd all but managed to shake off the bad feelings of the day. And then Charles had asked him to come into his office, and in such a tone Kevin knew something was wrong.

So, was he in trouble? Again, he didn't know. He'd gotten there early, and Charles had been out with students. At least, that's what he'd thought. Maybe he could just explain things, if Charles even knew what happened.

Then again, if he knew that much about what happened, had he seen what Kevin wanted to do? Somehow, having Charles know what he'd thought seemed even worse than even thinking it. Charles was kind and good. He loved his mother, and he wanted to be a part of Kevin's life. But what if he saw that?

The door opened and Charles wheeled in. He looked slightly surprised to see Kevin, but smiled and shut the door.

 _You're here early,_ he said.

 _Nothing else to do_ , Kevin said, kicking his feet.

Charles gave a small smile and wheeled up to him. He put his hands in his lap.

"So, how was your first day after this morning?" he said.

"Okay," Kevin answered cautiously, "I mean, Xuan and Sam seems nice. Sam's kinda loud though."

"He's very bold," said Charles, "Although that can often times translate into foolhardy. But that's good. I'm glad you're making friends."

Kevin watched him, that same note of caution filling his head. Charles looked briefly down at his hands before moving them to his armrests. What was going on? Why was he moving so much?

"Kevin, I need to talk to you about what happened this morning in the classroom," said Charles.

"It wasn't my fault," Kevin said, "He was being really mean, and he was gonna push Sam unless I did something. I don't know if you saw that but-"

"Please, calm down," said Charles, "It's not about that. I understand why you moved him away."

Swallowing hard, Kevin looked down at the ground, feeling his heart rate speed up.

"That...voice I heard in your head," Charles said, "Those images. Kevin, what was that?"

He froze. Even though he'd bee fearing what Charles had seen, that he'd known about Kevin's urge to hurt the boy, this was worse. This was much, much worse than if he'd wanted to kill that boy.

"Nothing," said Kevin.

"That wasn't nothing," Charles said.

"It was nothing," Kevin said, "Just a bad dream I had once. You know? When my parents were going through the divorce. I had a bad dream of my dad yelling at me. That's all that was."

Charles looked at him, and Kevin could tell that he didn't believe him. He had to make him believe that. No one could know about that, least of all Charles. He might tell his mom.

For a moment more, Charles looked at him, his clear blue eyes thinking, always thinking. Kevin wanted to reach out, try to lie to him with his thoughts, but he knew he wouldn't be any good at it.

"Tell me," said Charles, "Why did you stop playing baseball?"

Kevin blinked, feeling the urge to just gawk at the man in front of him.

"Now, I was never much into sports when I was a child," he said, "To be honest, it always seemed like there was something else to do. It was my stepbrother who was more interested in that, but, well, maybe that's why I wasn't interested. But why did you stop?"

It took a minute for Kevin to figure out what to say.

"I...I...how did you know?" he asked.

"Well, I saw a picture of you and your mother," said Charles, "It was difficult to tell if you had a jersey on, but she definitely had a baseball jersey on. I know for a fact your mother was never into sports, but I think she would turn out waving a flag and wearing a baseball cap if you were playing."

Despite the abruptness of the question, Kevin found himself giving a small nod. Some of his favorite memories were stored in the times when he played, and his mom was there on the bleachers, yelling for him.

"She was really good about coming to my games," he said.

"I can imagine," smiled Charles, "Now, why did you stop?"

Kevin kicked out his legs. It wasn't a great question, but, considering the line of questioning only a few minutes earlier, he'd answer this.

"After my parents got divorced, some of the boys found out and teased me about it," Kevin said, "I thought it wasn't a big deal, but I saw some people pointing and whispering when my mom got out of the hospital, at me and her."

He picked at the side of the chair.

"I just thought...I thought it wasn't worth it," he said, "So I told my mom I was getting bored, that I didn't like it any more. She believed me after a while, and I didn't go back."

"But you didn't lose your love for the sport, did you?" Charles said, "Just the people."

Kevin nodded. When he looked, Charles's blue eyes were again looking at him thoughtfully.

"Alright, let's go outside," he said.

"Huh?" asked Kevin.

"Some of the equipment's still outside from P.E.," he said, "We'll have to see if you can still hit."

"What?" asked Kevin.

Charles began wheeling away, a grin plastered on his face. Feeling dazed, Kevin slid out of his chair and followed him out of his office. With a jolt he realized they really were headed outside.

"But you can't play baseball!" he blurted.

As he pressed the button for the elevator, Charles gave him a mild look. Kevin could feel his face growing hot. He couldn't believe he'd said that, and Charles had been so kind to him.

"To be fair, I couldn't really play before the wheelchair," Charles said, "But I'm not suggesting I bat Kevin, although I could. Believe it or not, I do have very good upper body strength."

Kevin just stared at him, and followed him meekly out onto the lawn. Most of the students were inside, and only a few were on the lawn. They were clustered by the lake, and they trailed off away from them onto the back lawn.

No one was there but, true to Charles's word, there was plenty of equipment piled up in a corner. Kevin hesitantly picked up a bat, choosing carefully as he saw Charles grab a bucket full of baseballs.

He walked beside him, feeling awkward and strange. It wasn't until they were some distance away from the house that Kevin picked a spot. Charles smiled at him, hefting one of the baseballs.

"Are you ready?" he said.

Kevin nodded, trying to keep his elbows up. He swallowed hard, still feeling a little odd. It had been a long time since he'd played baseball. But when the ball flew toward him, muscle memory took over, and he hit.

It flew to the other side of the field. On his home team, he knew the boy who would've caught it in practice. Charles smiled and threw another ball. This one would've been outfield. They would've scrambled to catch it.

He laughed when he hit the next one, and the one after that. Then there was another one to the outfield. He'd been a good hitter, always had been. It had made him feel important, even when he was young, even when he was only in daycare.

 _Why are you crying? Are you a little girl? Did I get a daughter instead of a son? Get up!_

Kevin felt his grip on the bat tighten as he hit the next ball. Not here. This was good. This was something like fun. Charles was here, and he shouldn't be thinking about this, not when everything was going so good.

 _I said get up!_

He hit the next ball, even harder. It seemed like only a second before the next ball began flying toward him.

 _What did you say?_

He hit it as hard as he could before flinging the bat down and crouching on the ground. All he could think about was that night, and all he could hear was his own breathing. He didn't want to cry, didn't want to do this, and he hated that boy so much for making him remember-

 _Kevin, I'm here._

He looked up and saw that Charles had pulled himself out of his wheelchair. He was seated next to him, stroking his hair. Kevin looked down at the ground, seeing for the first time that the baseballs he'd hit were floating in the field.

He took a deep breath and they dropped. Hesitantly Charles took him in his arms, and Kevin held on, trying not to see it any more.

"Kevin, what's wrong?" asked Charles.

Oh no. There wasn't any way out. Not after this.

"Kevin?"

"Don't tell my mom," he said.

"Well, of course not," Charles said. "You haven't done anything wrong-"

"No," said Kevin, "Don't tell her what I'm about to tell you. She doesn't know."

Charles frowned.

"Kevin, I don't know if-"

"Please!"

A torn expression crossed Charles's face, and Kevin hated himself for doing this. He knew Charles didn't want to keep secrets from his mother, didn't want to tell her lies. He wanted to be honest because he loved her, but Kevin couldn't let her know.

"Alright," Charles said softly, "Alright Kevin. I won't tell."

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath.

"I came home early from daycare one day," said Kevin, "They dropped me off. They do that, sometimes. And...my father was already home. He was angry. I think...I think...I don't know. I don't think he was drunk. But he was shouting and breaking things, and it scared me, and I cried. I was only six."

"Don't make excuses," said Charles, "You haven't done anything wrong."

Kevin swallowed, opening his eyes. Maybe if he opened them, he wouldn't see this going through his head.

"And...and he got angry, asked if I was a girl, and I was scared," said Kevin, "I knew he hurt mom, but, but he was yelling, and he kept asking me if I was a weak girl and I said..."

Tears streamed down his face. His palms felt clammy. Charles held him tightly, and Kevin gulped.

"I said mom's a girl and she's a lot stronger than you," Kevin said, "And he...and that's when..."

"That's when he knocked you into the wall, isn't it?" asked Charles softly.

Kevin nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to stop his tears. He batted at them furiously.

"I felt that in your mind this morning," he said, "What he said...it reminded you of it, didn't it?"

Once more, all Kevin could do was nod.

"I felt your rib break," said Charles, "How did your mother not know?"

"He cleaned it up, and...and he said he'd kill us if I told her," said Kevin, "I was scared, I was so scared, and I didn't want to worry her. He was already hitting her, and I didn't know she was divorcing him. So I never said anything about the pain. I didn't know it was broken. It was broken?"

He didn't wait until Charles answered.

"Little League was out, and she locked him out two weeks later, and it was okay, and then he really did try and kill her-"

"Kevin-"

"And even when he was gone, I couldn't tell, because she'd blame herself if she knew. I know she would," Kevin whispered, "And then today I wanted to hurt that boy. How could I do that? I just...I felt helpless again, like I did when I was little, and there was nothing I could do and-"

"Kevin, shhhh."

The words choked in his throat before he could say them. He held onto Charles, trying not to remember the fear, the helplessness, the shame. He tried not to remember the nights spent trying to tell his mother, only to have the words stopped, his ability to speak fleeing.

Charles began stroking his hair, shifting him so his arm was wrapped around his shoulder.

"When I was younger, my stepfather used to threaten to put out cigarettes in my hand," said Charles, "Me and my stepbrother. Not my sister: he didn't care about her. He never did the cigarettes, I don't know why. But I did grow up trying to explain away black eyes and bruises, because what could I say? What could I do? It felt like the answer was nothing."

Kevin looked up, and blue eyes stared back at him, not thoughtful, but instead filled with sympathy, with that same understanding he'd encountered the day he'd heard voices echoing in his head.

"Just know that you're safe here," said Charles, "And while I truly believe your mother should know this, I believe it should come from you. Not from me"

Charles breathed in and, for the first time, Kevin realized he could hear Charles's heart hammering against his chest.

"But, know one thing," Charles said, "I pity anyone who tires to hurt you Kevin. Because that is not something that will happen ever again."

And, looking at Charles's expression, at the tightness of his jaw, the determination, Kevin believed him.


	27. Chapter 27

Although he protested at first, Charles insisted on tucking Kevin into bed. He was too tired to put up a real fight. The child was shaken after what had happened out on the field, and Charles had taken him straight to his room afterwards, away from prying eyes.

He'd ordered food be brought up, even asked Hank to get a TV. Hank, ever loyal, had fetched it without question. He'd even installed it, asking safe questions, pretending not to notice Kevin's scrunched up form, his eyes swollen from tears.

The rest of the night had been filled with some laughter, and some more tears. Charles, of all people, knew how good it was to finally let go of a secret, to unburden yourself to someone. Kevin's battle was far from over, but this was a good step. Perhaps some of that lingering sadness was because, in his heart, he knew he would have to tell his mother some day soon.

When Kevin's eyes began to droop, Charles had just smiled. It had been an exhausting day for the child, and he knew he would need as much sleep as possible. He'd pulled the blankets up to his chin, putting a hand on his shoulder for a minute afterward.

 _Now, if you don't feel up to class in the morning, let me know,_ Charles said, _I don't want you to play the hero._

 _Okay._

Even Kevin's thoughts felt tired. Charles smiled again, trying not to let any of the sadness he felt seep through the connection.

 _And if you need me for anything, anything at all,_ he said, _Just call for me. I'll be right down, understand?_

Kevin had yawned and closed his eyes, snuggling into his pillow.

 _I wish you were my father._

The thought was so wispy that Charles knew he hadn't sent it on purpose. Its tapering also showed the boy was well and truly asleep, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to him.

That didn't mean that its impact was any less felt. It was like a sledgehammer shattering his mind and, for a brief moment, he saw an image of himself, Moira and Kevin as a family, something he was realizing he wanted so badly it hurt.

No matter what happened in the next few years, whatever he had to face, Charles knew those words, like Moira's pledge of love, would stay with him until he died.

"If I had been braver a little sooner, you would've been," Charles murmured, looking at Kevin's sleeping form, "But I can't change what's already been, at least not yet."

He thought of Logan, of his message, of the names he had said. He hadn't mentioned Moira or Kevin. Why was that? Had he not known about them? Or had his mind only been on his friends?

It didn't matter. Logan hadn't known everything, but the courage and strength he had given him were precious.

"I can only change what happens next," he said, "And you have my word I will."

Charles left the room as quietly as he could, closing the door behind him. When he looked up, he saw his sister leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. He sighed, knowing that the night was likely to be as difficult as the afternoon had been.

"Let's go to my office," he said.

"No," said Raven, "Not there."

"Where do you prefer?" Charles said tiredly, "And don't say here."

She turned and began to walk. Charles followed her, giving one look behind him at Kevin's room. He would be alright, at least for the night. Charles would have to try and convince him to tell Moira what had happened soon, but not tonight.

Charles was only mildly surprised when he realized Raven was leading him down to the Danger Room. It was a silly nickname, but, from what he'd been hearing, the teens had been in several different forms of danger in the past few days.

She sealed the door behind her and Charles put his hands in his lap. Raven remained with her back to him. He wasn't sure if she was doing it to be dramatic, or she was just trying to figure out what to say.

"Did you do this just to pacify me?" she asked, "Make me stay?"

"Sorry?" asked Charles.

"The X-men," snapped Raven, "Was this just some way to make me stay? Make me think you gave a damn about arming and protecting mutantkind when you just wanted to keep playing school?"

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. Of all the things he thought she might be angry at him for, this wasn't one of them. It was difficult to keep from giving an emotional answer. It wouldn't help anyone now.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Because every time I host a team meeting, you never seem to be anywhere to be found," she said.

He closed his eyes.

"That was today," he said.

"Yes, yes it was," she said, "This afternoon, if you care, which you don't."

"I am sorry," Charles said, "I wanted to come, honestly I did, but something happened-"

"You pull them out to run your errands whenever you feel like it, but come to the meetings? No," Raven said. "Of course, that might not you playing school as much as it is playing baseball."

He took in a breath between his teeth. Charles wanted to tell her exactly what had happened, that it hadn't been him dodging his responsibilities, but if he wasn't allowed to tell Moira, Kevin's mother, than he couldn't tell his sister.

"Just wanting to get in good with your girlfriend's son?" she said, "Charles, what's important to you here?"

"Protecting mutants and helping them discover who they are," said Charles, "Teaching them what it means to live a life without fear. That is all I have ever wanted Raven."

"Is it?" asked Raven, snorting, "Because if that's really all you wanted, you would've come with me and Erik back on Cuba."

The words cut deep. For years after the beach he'd had nightmares, dreams, of what would've happened if he'd asked to go with them. Would he have been able to save them sooner? Would things have been better?

But it hadn't been what he'd wanted.

"That was never an option for me," said Charles, "You know that."

"Yes, there was something holding you back," Raven said, her back still to him, "Or someone."

He frowned, and, slowly, something cold grew within. No. Surely she couldn't have misunderstood him so much.

"Raven," he said, "Please don't tell me you thought I didn't go with you because of Moira."

"I think she was the deciding factor," said Raven, "Certainly she had more weight than your friend and your sister."

He stared at her. No.

"Not that it should've surprised me it would be her first," she said, "When the plane crashed, who did you run for? It wasn't me, wasn't your students, it was her."

"I couldn't see her Raven," said Charles, the cold manifesting down to his fingertips, "Everyone else seemed fine. All I could hear was a soft groan. She was in the cockpit Raven. You were right across from me. I couldn't see her!"

She snorted again. Something was building deep inside him. For years, he'd pushed himself away from Moira, hoping he was doing the right thing. He'd given himself to his school, because he'd lost just about everything else, and when he'd lost that, he'd lost himself too.

But now, he'd rebuilt it. He'd made a good home. Moira was back in his life, and now, now he had the strength to make his heart known to her. Now they had the chance they'd never had when they were young. It seemed like all the people in his life were coming back to him.

Now he had the feeling Raven never really had returned though. Why didn't she understand? He'd tried so hard.

"Does any of this even matter to you now that you have your family?" asked Raven, gesturing to the room, "Now that you have the woman you love, a son, does anyone else matter?"

Too much. Every word felt like a blow, hitting deeper and deeper.

"Storm, Scott, Jean?"

And then, the knife to his heart.

"Do they even mean anything-?"

"They are everything!"

* * *

Mystique whirled around, the pitch and tenor of his words something she'd never heard before from him. When she turned, she saw, to her shock, the fury on his face, the agony, the despair.

"Everything Raven, everything I am is here!" he shouted, gesturing around him, "It's in every brick of the school, the people! It's in Hank's faith, my student's freedom, in the knowledge Moira's coming back, in the son she trusted me with. It's even in you, even if you don't want it!"

She flinched, uncertain of what to do or say. This was something she'd never seen before, this desperation, this torment, only even begun to hear it on the lawn at D.C. It was frightening.

"I didn't make you stay here Raven, I never did. You and Erik, I could have, but I didn't," Charles said, "All I ever wanted was to see you again, to know you were alright. Yes, I didn't want you to walk a dark path, but I didn't force you to come back! Not even on Cuba, when all I wanted was for you to be free, hoping beyond hope what you wanted was to stay with me but knowing it wasn't!"

Mystique took a step back, watching as her brother buried his head in his hands.

"The days when I woke up after the school closed and the only reason I didn't end it was because I knew Hank would have to clean up after me! God knows I wouldn't do that to him. Not after everything else!"

Her feet felt like lead. The school had closed? End it? What was he talking about?

Oh God, no.

"Storm, Scott, Jean, they're all a promise I have to keep!" Charles said, "A promise to others and to myself, that I wouldn't be that way again. That I would be better, that I would fight for them! Everything is filled with promises, things I fight to do, even when all I feel is defeat. Every day I see something that hurts, something that makes me feel like a failure. Every mutant death, sly act of prejudice, every Stryker, every Nur!"

He looked up, his eyes glued to her, pulling her in, and she felt like sinking into the ground.

"But every day I see something to make me hope too," said Charles, "Like you coming back, however reluctant it was. The children who are willing to fight the people who seek to do us harm. Moira still wanting me after what I'd done. Erik, not immediately going back to what he was. So many things."

He shook his head and turned around, his back hunched. She wanted to call out to him, tell him something, anything, but her tongue was glued.

"I love you," said Charles, pounding on the button to release the door, "You are my sister, and this can be your home. It's only a prison if you want it to be. And...as for Moira and Kevin..."

The door opened, and he began pushing himself through.

"I love her too, so much," he said, "I have for more than twenty years. I want her to be part of my life. And as for having a son? I certainly hope so Raven. And if that's something you resent, then there's something you should know."

He looked over his shoulder, his lips in a tight line.

"The only thing really keeping you from Kurt is you," he said.

The door closed, and Mystique was left, shaken and alone.


	28. Chapter 28

"Hank, we need to talk."

Hank looked up from the tests he was grading. Raven's presence was surprising to him, especially after their last conversation. She'd been sullenly avoiding him since then, and while Hank knew he'd let his temper get the better of him, he had the feeling that, just this once, it wasn't up to him to apologize.

It wasn't up to him to continue to judge though, and Charles would likely be disappointed if he found out Hank had picked a fight with his sister. Besides, this might be an apology, although, on closer inspection, her body language didn't have that mien.

"I'm busy Raven," he said.

"Hank, this is more important than those tests," she said.

Good grief, why did she have to be dismissive of everything he did?

"Not to my seniors," he said, "I have three who are depending on this test to give them a passing grade. They've worked very hard."

She let out a frustrated noise, and Hank continued looking at the papers.

"Hank, please, do you have a minute to talk?"

The words were grudging, but they were enough. He put down his pen.

"All you have to do is ask," he said.

"Why is that suddenly so important?" Raven asked, sitting down.

"It was always important," said Hank, "You just never did."

She crossed her arms, looking to the side, her lips pursed. Hank waited, picking his pen up again nervously. He twirled it in between his fingers nervously, unsure what to do with it.

"What...what happened while I was gone?"

He frowned, dropping his pen.

"You're going to have to be more specific," he ventured.

She shot him a glare, but he put his hands up defensively.

"You were gone for twenty years," he said, "A lot happened. Do you have a specific year, because, for some reason, I don't think you're asking a general question."

"And why's that?" she asked.

"Because you never asked before," said Hank, "Not at D.C., and not when you came back. The only thing you asked about was the X-men, and whether or not this is true for you, combat only part of our life."

He shrugged.

"So...what do you want to know about?" he asked, "What happened?"

She gritted her teeth and looked out the window.

"Was...Charles ever suicidal at any point?"

Hank stiffened and looked down at his papers. The words were already swirling in front of him, and he swallowed. He tried hard not to remember those years where he felt helpless, only an enabler in the grand scheme of things. Hank remembered his own fears, his own uselessness, the feeling his life passing before him, but also watching the life drain out of the man he respected.

"I think that's something you need to talk to him about," Hank said, "I..."

"Hank, don't do this. He said something to me last night-"

"What did he say?" snapped Hank, fear stabbing at him, "What's gone wrong?"

"Nothing, I think," Raven said, taken aback, "I just-"

"What happened?" said Hank.

Not now. Things were going so good. The X-men and the school were back. Moira was here, and she would be good for Charles. Kevin looked up to Charles, and there were great trials coming up. This couldn't be happening.

"He just..he mentioned there was a time where he almost...gave up," she said softly, "But...he said he didn't want you to have to clean up after him."

Hank slumped in his seat and rested his head in his hands. Good. This wasn't what he thought it was. This was something confessed in the middle of what was probably an argument. The clock wasn't turning back.

"Hank, I know I've been difficult over the past few...past years actually," Raven admitted, "But, whether or not you truly believe this, I never wanted anything to happen to my brother."

"Then how come you're always so angry when he's happy?" asked Hank, "Always so angry whenever you see him when he's only ever happy to see you?"

She turned away, looking first at the floor, and then at the ceiling. Hank expected her to storm off, but, instead, she stayed seated.

"It's complicated," she said.

"Not an answer," said Hank.

"No, it isn't," she admitted, "But it's the best I can come up with right now. I just need to know..."

Raven bit her lip.

"Hank, whether or not you understand this, it is difficult for me to think that there was a time where he could've...done that, and I would've lost him, and not spoken to him in ten years," she said, "That is hard, and I need to understand."

Hank looked at her for a moment longer, and then sighed. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. But, perhaps it was time. Hadn't bottling everything up, leaving things unsaid, hadn't all that been what had led them here?

"It became apparent about seven years after you left," Hank admitted, "Right after the school folded."

* * *

"You know, not that I'm not happy to help," said Levine, "But I just never realized you had so much stuff."

His friend smiled, packing some more of Kevin's baby clothes into a cardboard box. She taped it up and labelled it with a sharpie.

"Have you ever moved?" Moira said, "You'd be surprised how much stuff you accumulate over the years."

"Career bachelor," Levine said.

He glanced at the clock. Was it really already eight? He'd need to get home fairly soon, get to bed so he could get up for work in the morning.

"It only takes one person to accumulate stuff, trust me," she said, "And this is just me and Kevin right now."

"What are you even going to do all of this?" asked Levine, "No offense, but I don't think you're going to have this much space in a school dormitory room."

"For now, it's going into storage," said Moira, "Most of it anyway. Our clothes, a few books, those are coming with us. I'll sell the house, with your help of course."

"I signed the limited power of authority this morning," Levine said, "I'll get you a good price. Know what you're going to be doing at the school?"

"Not exactly," Moira said, "From our past conversations, I'm guessing something like guidance counselor, with a few more duties. If they need anyone to teach Arabic, I'm also a perfect candidate apparently."

Levine nodded and taped the bottom of a cardboard box. He yanked a few blankets out of one of the closets and put them in. He wasn't a good packer, but he managed to get them all into the box before the point where it looked apt to burst.

"But...if you need to contact me..."

He looked up, and saw Moira's uncertain glance. He quirked his eyebrow and she sighed and got up. Levine watched her go out of the room, and shrugged. He finished packing up the box as she walked back, scrawling something on a piece of paper.

"If you need to contact me, you should have the school's number," she said.

Moira held it out to him. Levine understood the trust she was giving him. He already had her cell phone, but, the school's number was different. That wasn't her fortress, that was the place containing her hopes from where she was younger, the future she wanted to build. It was where her and her son would be, possibly forever.

It was a special level of trust. He smiled and held out his hand. She just gave him a small nod, tucking the pen into her pocket, and he did the same with the number.

"I don't have to tell you not to tell anyone what that is," she said.

"Hey, I took the same interrogation classes you did," said Levine, "If anyone asks, this is the number to my favorite pizza place in my hometown in Connecticut. I save it for when I go home and shoot the shit with childhood friends."

She laughed and Levine gave her a small nod.

"I'm really going to miss you, you know that, right?" he said.

"Me too," Moira said, "I...I hope things work out with Patricia."

"I hope things work out with you and Charles too," said Levine, "It's the first time I want to be wrong about someone, you know that?"

"Rare words," said Moira.

He laughed and reached for another box. Levine pulled on some of the tape, only to have the roll run out on him. He sighed.

"I'm gonna go downstairs, get the rest," he said, "I think I'll order a pizza too."

"You're pretty obsessed with pizza," she said, "And it's almost eight."

"It is eight, and it's the ultimate food," grinned Levine, "Don't worry, I know a place that does good delivery."

She just shook her head and Levine headed downstairs. He located the tape easily enough and put it on the counter. Levine grabbed the home phone, trying to figure out which pizza joint he wanted to use.

As he did, he glanced out the window. The lights were out in the house next to them and, for a moment, he didn't think anything of it. Some people turned in early, like he did so often these days.

Then he realized the house next to it was dark too. Levine put down the phone. An old sixth sense told him to look out another window. They were in a good suburban neighborhood. Houses were on all sides.

He checked another window. The lights were out in the houses there too. Another window, another dark house. Cars were missing too. Had they been moved out? Evacuated? A faulty gas line? If so, then why hadn't...?

"Moira!" he yelled.

He was already halfway to the stairs. He knew what it meant when you evacuated surrounding houses but kept one in the dark. It didn't take much, a gas leak, something plausible, and people would leave, too caught up in moving their own families to worry about their neighbors until later. If you were quick and quiet, the target wouldn't be alerted.

He'd used the technique enough in the past.

"Something's wrong!" he shouted, only two steps to the stairs, "We have to get-!"

It was a soft noise, the shot that hit his shoulder. He couldn't see it, could barely hear it, but the familiar, searing pain was there just the same. Levine dropped, moving to what he hoped was cover, trying to see what was going on.

The door was kicked open. He couldn't really see too much, but he saw the one headed for the stairs. Levine cracked his burning shoulder. After so many years, he knew what to do. It wasn't even a thought.

He tackled the first one, using his good hand to smash a fist into their fist. He was older now, and out of shape, but it still carried a wollop. He felt some satisfaction as he grabbed the gun, shot the next one in line, moved to get behind cover.

It was the second shot that stopped him, hit him in the ribs, dropped him near the kitchen. It was colder than he thought it would be, but just as painful. Somewhere he heard someone call his name. Moira?

No. He forced himself to turn, but so much was blurry. All he saw was the images of a fight. Moira was a helluva brawler, in good shape, carrying her own gun. Saw her use a move they learned in their training to disarm one successfully. Atta girl. Atta girl.

One took aim, and he pulled around the gun he'd gotten. He took careful aim and dropped one. A soldier noticed him, but Moira whipped around and fired. He dropped the ground.

She moved forward, grabbing him under the arm. With her other arm she fished under the sink for something. A first aide kit? It wasn't going to help much with what he had, but it was better than nothing.

"Get up," she said, "Come on. We're getting outta here, okay?"

"Got it," Levine said, gritting his teeth.

Standing after having a bullet wound in the side of his ribs should be a punishment in the innermost circle of hell. It burned like nothing else, but he kept his moans quiet and angry. They had to get out of there soon.

The walk to the car was a blur, and sitting down painful. He cracked open the first aide kit, swallowing the first painkiller he saw. Aspirin. Not great, but he wasn't going to bitch about it at the moment.

She stepped on the gas. Vaguely, he realized they were on the road heading away from the CIA. Good. It would be where they would expect her to go. They were probably monitoring the roads. No, she needed to get far, and call it in. That was their procedure if something stupid happened.

He pulled out some of the bandages, pressing it to the wound.

"Gonna hafta figure out how ta stitch this," he hissed, "I don't think this flashlight is gonna work."

"Not a concern," Moira said.

She whipped out her cell phone, glancing at the road ahead and dialing with her thumb.

"I'm gonna get you to a doctor real fast," she said, "Best one I ever knew."


	29. Chapter 29

Charles picked up his phone, not really looking at it. Only one person called him on his cell phone these days and, after the previous afternoon and night, he could use her voice, even if he couldn't tell her everything.

"Charles?"

The slight edge to the word immediately told him this wasn't going to be a pleasurable call. He was already wheeling out from behind his desk, heading down to Cerebro. He didn't know what was going on, but his lover hadn't sounded like this since she told him she couldn't find her son.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Some bastards tried to kill us, that's what!"

He had only a split second to register the second voice before the words sunk in.

"What? Are you alright?" he asked, "Moira, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but Levine isn't doing so good," she said, "And buckle up Levine. Shot or not, you know the speed I'm going at right now."

Levine. Who was Levine? Her old partner. Charles could only just remember him, a man who had always been at Moira's side at the CIA. Back then Charles had, shamefully, not paid much attention to him. Not when Moira was in the room.

Kevin mentioned he'd often stayed with Levine when his mother had to go on a mission. It appeared they were neighbors.

"Where are you?" asked Charles, "I can have Nightcrawler and Quicksilver pick you up."

"We're in motion, near the intersection of 495 and 267," Moira said, "I can't stop. I don't know how far they are behind me, so I'm going a good twenty miles over. I can't be pulled over for speeding, but I can't slow down."

Her voice was ragged. His heart ached to be with her, to know for certain she was alright.

"I need to get out of here and call my boss, but first, I need to get Levine to a hospital, to a doctor where I know no one will be able to hurt him," she said, "Where I know I won't be followed."

"Yes, I'll have Hank on stand-by," Charles said, putting his fingers to his temples.

Although Hank was probably just finishing up his work from the day, and Kurt, Peter, Scott, Jean and Storm might be in bed, he sent out a quick message to them, letting them know about the situation. He also sent one to Raven. Even if they weren't talking, she would want to be informed of what was happening.

It was unlikely they would need all of them, but he would at least need Peter and Kurt. Hank would have to have his medical tools ready. They were going to have some sort of wounded on their hands and-

The sound of gunshots echoed through the phone. He jumped, the screech of tires shooting him through with fear.

"Moira?" he shouted.

There was no answer. All he could hear were the sounds of a gunfight.

 _Everyone, get ready for your first mission,_ he said, his knuckles white as he griped the phone, _We have a confirmation of gunshots fired. Those who can move fast, collect everyone and get down to the Danger Room. NOW.  
_

Charles didn't wait for an answer. He kept the phone in his hand, listening to the gunfire as he pushed himself to the elevator. It didn't seem to go fast enough, and the sounds from his phone just seemed to go on forever and forever. Every now a shatter of gunfire, the sound of a car trying to avoid a shot.

"Moira," he pleaded.

He didn't know what he was begging for exactly. If she answered, he would only be a distraction. But maybe, maybe she had managed to shake them. It was an impossible hope, one that became even more remote when she didn't answer.

Charles arrived in the halls beneath the school. Peter appeared next to him, and, in a soft explosion, Kurt appeared too. Jean, Scott and Storm were holding onto his shoulders, looking alarmed. Well, Scott and Jean were. Storm seemed ready to go.

"We're looking at somewhere near the intersection of 495 and 267," Charles said, "Moira is going very fast right now, she has an injured friend, and people are shooting."

"I do not know vhere zat is," Kurt said nervously.

"I do, and I've got an idea," said Peter, muscling his way through the others, "I used to run past it all the time. I'll make frequent stops, and you can just follow me."

Dimly, Charles registered that Peter was still wearing his pajama bottoms with sneakers. Another round of gunfire banished any thoughts he had on that particular score. What did it matter what anyone was wearing?

"It's a good idea, just needs slight revision," said Charles, "Peter, take Scott and Jean. Kurt, take Storm. As you move, Jean, keep in mental contact with Kurt. Show him the place you stop. Peter, don't make too frequent stops, and just long enough for the jump."

"So, all of us at once?" asked Peter.

"Just about," Charles replied, "Peter, don't take Mystique with you when she comes. Just keep evacuating people. Take them in shifts, but do not stay any longer than necessary. You get in, get them, you get out."

"She's not coming?" asked Storm uncertainly.

"There's no time. Come on, come on," Peter said, jumping from one foot to the other.

"We need to suit up-" began Jean.

What sounded like an explosion echoed through the phone. Crunching metal met his ears, muted swears. He looked down at the phone, felt his students' eyes upon it. There was a shout, a yell. He heard a twist, the thud of something on the ground.

Then, silence, and the sound of his heartbeat, threading pain through him.

"Okay, screw this," Peter said, grabbing Scott and Jean, "We're gonna go for the casual look. They'll just hafta get used to the sight of us in our civvies. Kurt, let's get this thing going. Kevin's mom ain't dying on my time, got it?"

Kurt didn't wait before he grabbed Storm's arm. The air moved next to Charles, followed by the smell of sulfur. His heart beat desperately, and he shoved himself toward Cerebro, not waiting for Hank or Raven like he'd thought he would.

He needed to know what was going on. Needed to know if he could help. He refused to sit idly by while the woman he loved could be injured or dying. Charles needed to know, and he needed to know now.

With trembling hands, he reached for the helmet, put it on, and concentrated. As he did, he offered up a silent prayer for the children who would soon be going into their second battle in less than a month, for the occupants of the car.

"Moira," he managed.

* * *

Her head was pounding, and it felt like she had swallowed burning cotton balls. Moira looked at the spider-webbed cracks on what remained of her windshield, at the roots of trees, at her own hair touching the roof of her car.

She was upside down. The car had rolled over. She had passed out. How long? Moira glanced at the dashboard. It had only been a few minutes, maybe six, since the gunfire came. Good.

The knowledge came painfully, as did the awareness of the seat belt digging into her shoulder and lap. It was keeping her strapped to her seat, suspended with the blood rushing to her head.

"Levine?" she managed.

There was a soft groan next to her. She turned to him, said a prayer of thanks that he'd listened to her and buckled in too. But blood was dripping down from his wound, the seat belt digging deeper into his ribs.

"Levine, wake up!" she said.

Footsteps filled the air, something metallic. Moira took in a harsh breath, reaching out and shoving him. Levine woke up, his eyes roving around, but he was disoriented. The footsteps were getting louder and louder.

There was no time. She had to get ready herself. Moira reached down, gently brushing her fingers against the roof of the car. She had to find a place she could brace her weight, get down before the blood rush disoriented her further.

Broken shards of glass met her fingertips.

"Shit," she whispered.

The footsteps were increasing. Moira swallowed. There wasn't enough time to make sure it was all gone. She couldn't think about what was going to happen next. She had to get back to Kevin, to Charles. She had to save Levine, and if she didn't, no one else would.

Moira reached own with her left hand and pushed away as much as she could. She formed a base with her palm, already feeling the slight bite of the microscopic shards she had missed. Then, with her right hand, she unbuckled.

Her weight came down on her left hand, and she felt the glass scrape into her palm. It kept her up just long enough to make sure she didn't land head first. It was still clumsy and painful when she fell, but it wasn't agony, and her blood was flowing the right way.

She reached up and into the glove box. The gun she'd stashed there before the shots began again was still there. It was a standard-issue weapon, one she'd been given when the agency updated their standard issue years ago.

Giving a quick eye over the car, she realized her phone was gone. Had it flown out of the window when they crashed? She could vaguely remember tossing it in the back when the gunshots fired. She'd needed two hands to drive the way she needed to. Not that it had done her any good.

Moira glanced underneath the window, saw the legs coming. She'd hoped that they were further away, but no dice. It looked like she'd have to do what she could, pray that back-up was on the way.

Crouching lower, she aimed the gun at the legs of the men coming, and fired. Shouts filled the air, and gunshots rippled along the edge of her windshield. She pushed back, curling her arms around her face. Blood ran down from her left hand and onto her shirt. It was warm and sticky.

Levine was trying to get out of his seat. Moira crawled over to where he was, trying to get further from where the men were now taking cover. Forcing her hands to be steady she helped him out.

"Where's the phone?" he asked.

"Gone," Moira said, "And I don't think 911 would help."

"You never know," gasped Levine.

"You can come out quietly you know!"

The shout startled her, and she turned. She could just make out a pair of boots there, standing impatiently. She looked over at Levine and pushed herself further into whatever cover the car provided.

"We don't want to kill you Miss MacTaggert, we really don't. Now, we all know you've got a little boy out there to think of-"

She angled the gun and shot at the figure. He moved out of the way, but how dare he bring up her son?

"Okay, fine. We can do things my way-"

"What the hell?"

"Jesus, look out!"

Gunshots ripped through the air, but not at them.

 _Moira._

"Charles," she whispered.

Levine looked at her and, suddenly, she saw more feet moving, running, shooting. Fighting. The sound of flesh hitting flesh. There was a question in Levine's eyes, but she barely had an answer as it was.

 _Moira, love, they're here for you. Go to them, get safe!_

"Levine, they're on our side," she hissed, "Move!"

He dragged himself out, heaving his weight against the car door. Moira crawled out after him, still keeping herself low. A stray soldier looked her way and she saw him aim what might have been a gun.

The soldier suddenly found himself without a gun. A second later, he was on the ground, and Peter was there, his goggles over his eyes, in his pajama pants and a sweater, grinning at her.

"Just stay there, 'kay?" he said, "We'll getcha both. Me or Nightcrawler. We're gettin 'ya home, right after we lay the hurtin on these bastards."

He zipped off, and Moira saw three more men fall before they could even reach their guns.

"You're right," wheezed Levine, "I think he is growing on me."

Moira managed a hazy smile. Bullets were still flying, and she saw a puff of black smoke on the other side of the clearing. Red light shot through the night, and she briefly saw Scott before he rushed in.

Someone took aim at him, a clear target made by the light of his eyes. Moira stepped away from cover, away from Levine, to get a clear shot. She hit him in the shoulder, and he dropped his gun.

There was a noise from somewhere behind her, like a soft explosion. She let her grip on the gun slacken, her hand still throbbing.

"Thank God Kurt," she said, "You should get Levine first-"

But when she turned, she didn't see the blue teen. Instead, she saw a man with a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.

"Sorry," he said, "I ain't Kurt."

She moved to bring the gun around, but he knocked it out of her hand, sending it across the ground. Levine made a move, but he kicked him in the face, and she saw more blood stain her friend's face.

Moira moved to punch the man, but he disappeared before her fist made contact. His hand reached out, grabbing her wrist. She slammed her injured hand into it, thrashed, kicked out and pulled.

He wouldn't let go.

 _Moira, what's going on? Who-?_

Then, the night blurred.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Two more chapters._


	30. Chapter 30

There was a moment, only a moment where he could feel Moira's confusion, her fear, her pain. She was staring at the man, trying to reclaim her wrist. Then Charles felt her mind slip through his fingers like water, tumbling through without leaving a trace.

"No," Charles whispered, "No, no, no..."

He concentrated, felt the lights around him turn dark, trying to follow her through what felt like a maze, a jagged line. What was this man? Was he a teleporter? What was happening?

Water continued to pour, making it impossible to get a grip on her mind. Every time Charles thought he made contact, got a glimpse of where she was, she was off again. Her mind was reaching out for him, trying to fight what was happening to her.

Every now and then he got a sliver of a scene, a frustrated man in a cowboy hat, his eyes averted from her. Her fingers clawed against the man's face, but he didn't stop.

"Let her go," hissed Charles, "Let her go, let her go!"

Something warm dripped down his face. He ignored whatever it was. Everything in him screamed to go after the man's mind, but his was twice as slippery as Moira's, pulling and twirling away.

Charles reached out. Causing pain had never been something he wanted to do with his gift. For so long he'd done what he'd done to communicate, to help show people a better way. He'd used it selfishly sometimes, to pause a room, or to confuse someone, make a situation go his way. Not to hurt. Not since Shaw.

He lashed out, and he saw the man stumble. For a minute, Moira's mind was back in his grasp again. It felt like a breath of fresh air. All around him he could see mountains, water tumbling over a mountain somewhere.

She fell to her knees, gasping, and the man grabbed her arm again.

"No!" he shouted.

But the spinning began again, and her mind was once again like water. The stops were more frequent now, one every second it seemed. Even brushing against the man's mind was out of the question now. He would have to concentrate solely on her. And if he let go, he might not be able to find her again.

He couldn't risk that.

 _Charles, I-_

 _Moira?_

 _I-_

The words were whisked away, but he could hear her tone. She was sick and exhausted, disoriented. It felt like her mind was being put through a blender, her senses destroyed through what was happening. There was so much pressure in her head.

 _Take care of-_

The next time he got a glimpse it was shorter, more disjointed. He saw spots swimming in front of her eyes, blocking her blurred vision. Her movements against her captor were getting weaker and weaker with each second.

 _Keep-_

Blurs made her next vision a mere swirl of colors. It was getting harder to hold on, not only to her mind, but to anything he was seeing. Something was wrong. He'd never done this with Cerebro before, and it was getting worse.

Whatever was dripping from his face was finding its way into his mouth, coppery and tangy. He reached out and clutched the edge of Cerebro, his fingers dragging against the metallic surface.

 _Please, please!_ he begged.

He didn't even know what he was begging for anymore.

 _Kevin-_

 _No, Moira, love-_

 _safe._

The water stopped slipping through his fingers, leaving his mind feeling cold. One last curl of warmth-

 _-love you._

And then, then it was all gone.

"Moira?" he whispered.

He opened his eyes. All around him the people of the world walked by, bright lights in their old world. But none of them were her. All he could see was the darkness clouding her vision before he lost his grip.

"No," he said, "No, no!"

His hands made a fist, pounding into the top of the console. Blood from his nose continued to drip, onto his lap, onto his hands. Tears were running down his face, salty and acid.

She was gone.

* * *

Mystique and Hank reached the hall in front of the Danger Room, but no one was there. She looked around, feeling confused, and a vague stab of anger. Had they gone out without her? Those were gunshots! She didn't care what had happened in Cairo, they weren't ready. Not yet, and not for this. Kurt was far too innocent to-

She heard a soft explosion next to her. Kurt was carrying a man profusely bleeding from his side, his shoulder, his face. Memory dimly told her she knew him, but it was barely there.

Hank knelt next to him immediately, checking his pulse. Mystique took the opportunity to examine Kurt covertly, note that he wasn't hurt. Good.

"Forget me," the man hissed, "Leave...me...get..."

"Hey, don't talk. Your ribs are pretty badly damaged, and I think you may have some internal bleeding," said Hank, "Kurt, get him to the infirmary. It's two doors down on the left."

There was another explosion, and Kurt was gone. Hank turned hurried there too, but Mystique didn't follow him. She waited for the rest of the team, for whatever purpose she had there. She had the feeling it was rapidly dwindling. When Moira arrived, it would probably diminish even further.

The rest of the team didn't come back immediately, and Raven leaned against the wall. Her conversation with Hank was still in her mind. To imagine Charles suicidal was bad enough. To acknowledge she might have lost him was worse. And he'd tried to take care of her when he saw her again at the Peace Accords.

At the time she had only vaguely resented it. She had been tired and hurt, glad to see a familiar face. She was being treated like a child, but at least her brother was there. At least she was among friends.

She shook off the memory as one by one, they appeared. All of them were in what she could only describe as various states of shock. Peter appeared last, but he didn't seem to be sad. He was angry, his hands shaking, his jaw clenched.

Mystique looked at them all and closed her eyes. Even though she hadn't been on the mission, she recognized the signs when one had gone horribly, horribly wrong. She recognized the look of defeat.

And she recognized that no one had brought Moira back.

"Tell me what happened," Mystique said, opening her eyes.

"Some absolute bastard," hissed Peter, "He just came right the hell outta nowhere. No one saw him, right? No one saw him?"

"Peter," Storm said softly.

"No!" he yelled, "No one saw him, did they? Where the hell did he come from? What was he doin there? Huh? Anybody got any goddamn ideas! Huh? Anyone know what's behind curtain number two? Huh?"

Jean flinched, no doubt feeling some kind of telepathic whiplash. A stray thought, that Peter was, in some ways, very much his father's son, danced through Mystique's mind. She remembered how Erik would get in his rages. They weren't as quickfire as this, and the questions were more demands than pleas, but still.

And she knew how to deal with this, just like she'd dealt with those.

"We'll get him," she said, her voice firm, "We'll bring his goddamn head back, but you need to tell me what happened."

She already had a feeling what had happened, but she didn't want to think about it. As much as she disliked Moira, she hadn't wanted Charles to have to bury her. Mystique didn't want her to be the team's first failure.

"They had a teleporter," Peter snapped, "I wasn't fast enough. They took her."

The message gave her a brief stab of alarm. The type of people who kidnapped people in this line of business weren't known for being gentle.

"Wait, who's they?" asked Mystique, trying to keep her voice low.

"Dunno," said Scott, cracking his shoulder, "I think they were military, but they didn't have any sort of ranks or anything on. Not even dog tags."

"Well no shit!" Peter snapped, "Hey everyone, let's go kidnap this woman and wear name tags!"

"No," said Mystique, holding up a hand.

They turned to her, and she realized they were looking to her for guidance. It was like the plane ride all over again, the way they had looked at her. Jean's timid voice from that day echoed in her head, and the burden of helping them all felt crushing.

Is this what Charles dealt with all the time?

"If they didn't have dog tags, this means this was a covert mission, if it was military," said Mystique, "This was off the books, which, believe it or not, does make a difference. It means it wasn't sanctioned, and Moira was a CIA agent. This could be very bad for them."

"Obviously Sgt. Asshole figured it'd be worth it," Peter snapped.

She didn't have to ask to know he was talking about Stryker. And yes, this did seem to be the kind of thing he'd do. She'd run into his handiwork more than once. A simple strike force, in and out, off the books. Quiet-like. And there was also the fact that Moira had been locked in a battle of wits and strategy with Stryker just before this. It appeared that she had won, which would have induced Stryker to use slightly less conventional methods.

The teleporter complicated matters slightly. What self-respecting mutant would work for Stryker? Then again, sometimes you did run into people who were only in it for themselves. She hoped he choked on whatever his pay was.

At least Moira was a human. It was the first time Mystique was grateful for that. It meant that, while her stay in Stryker's clutches was unlikely to be comfortable, she would be spared certain horrors.

He had no interest in vivisecting a human after all.

"Alright," she said, "We need to figure out where she's been taken. We can't launch a rescue mission without knowing where she is. And when you go out this time, you'll be properly equipped."

"We didn't have a lot of time," Scott said irritably.

"Yeah, it's not like we wear our suits under our clothes," said Peter, "Last I checked, we didn't even have phone booths to change in. We're X-men, not Superman."

While the tone was too disrespectful, she appreciated the return to humor. She didn't want to have to deal with too much of Erik's temper coming from his son. Erik's rage had always been used for something. She had the feeling Peter wouldn't be quite so experienced in its use.

"We'll deal with that issue later," said Mystique, "Right now, as I said, we need to know where she is. Anyone here know where Charles is? He'll probably be able to track her down."

"I remember him telling us to come back, but that was all," Jean said, "He sounded...he didn't sound good."

Mystique thinned her lips and looked down the hall.

"Stay here," she said.

They didn't argue as she marched toward Cerebro. Keying in the code was simple enough, and she forced herself to be steady. She didn't know exactly what she was going to find, but she knew it wouldn't be good.

Charles was hunched over the console, one of his hands fisted on it. Blood was dripping from his nose, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Gently, she removed the helmet, laid it carefully to one side.

Her hands were trembling now. Mystique knelt beside him, silent.

"I lost her," he whispered after what seemed like an eternity, "I had her. I could feel her. And she just...slipped away...he took her and I...I couldn't..."

A familiar, deep pain welled inside her. It appeared that his visible injury wasn't the only thing bleeding. She remembered a day where, so many years ago, her own heart had been shattered.

And so, still wordless, she covered his hand with hers.


	31. Chapter 31

"No."

Kevin's voice wobbled as he spoke. Charles searched for words to say, the taste of blood still in his mouth. It was gone from his face, scrubbed by his hands. Raven had searched for any signs of it or the tears before she'd allowed him up to see Kevin. She'd even tried to give him time to let the swelling his eyes go down.

It wasn't enough, but he knew it would only make things worse to let Kevin see him as Raven had seen him. As it was, he knew Kevin was already frightened. He wished he could protect the child from the knowledge, but Kevin wouldn't thank him for shielding him from this. Moira wasn't his friend or lover. Moira was his mother.

Soon, Levine would be well enough to call her boss. Soon, they would have to plan their own counterattack. But they all knew what could happen, what might have already happened. It wasn't an outcome Charles wanted to think about or acknowledge, but it felt like it was always there, trying to shimmy its way into his thoughts.

"Kevin," Charles said, struggling to keep his voice calm, "I-"

"No. She said she was gonna come back soon," said Kevin, "It was okay. She'd won."

"Kevin, it came out of nowhere," Charles said, trying desperately to find something comforting to say, "We tried to save her-"

"Where is she?" asked Kevin, "What did they do? Did they hurt her?"

Unbidden, Charles saw Kevin's thoughts. A face slammed into the table. Charles flinched, desperately hiding his own thoughts. Joe had been a monster, but Charles knew better than to think the cruelty of the people who had Moira would stop at the level of abuse she'd suffered at his hands.

"Where is she?" asked Kevin, "Where?"

"Kevin," pleaded Charles, "We...we don't know."

The child stared at him. Kevin didn't scream. He didn't shout. But Charles felt the child's emotions bubbling up, saw the furniture wobble around him, the tears start in his eyes. The child didn't know half of what happened, but even the few scraps he knew were destroying him.

Charles reached out, held him when his tears finally poured over into his shirt. Kevin gripped back immediately. Charles felt his own feelings of despair threatening to spill over. He'd failed her, and he'd failed Kevin too.

In that moment, he felt himself teetering on the edge of a precipice. It was one he'd spent years wallowing in when the school closed down, when his closest companions were the bottle, a drug that gave him use of his legs, and his own feelings of inadequacy.

Since then he'd always found reserves of strength when he needed to push his feelings aside for the sake of his students. It had often been difficult, been painful, but he'd found it somewhere deep within him.

It hadn't been this hard to gather up that strength since Logan had walked into his life.

"Charles?"

Kevin's voice was so broken. It added another crack to Charles's heart.

"You're gonna find her, right?" he asked, "This isn't...she's gonna be okay. Things are gonna be alright, right? Please?"

He closed his eyes, trying to find strength somewhere, anywhere.

 _"You here," he said, "Twenty years sooner. Maybe having the courage to be with you when you returned to the CIA, or begging you not to go back at all, to stay with us."_

 _"That would've been dangerous," said Moira, folding her hand over his._

 _"I know," Charles said, "But...it would've been good Moira."_

 _"It wouldn't have been safe, not for you, not for the boys," said Moira, "Even I knew that. Besides...I don't believe in holding onto the past. And you shouldn't be either."_

 _"It can be hard sometimes," he said._

 _"Trust me, I've been there," Moira said, "But the future can be good too."_

 _She leaned in, her face touching his._

 _"Especially when there's so much to look forward to."_

He held Moira's son closer, the son that wanted him to be his father, the son he could've had and still could. He gritted his teeth together, remembering yet another promise he'd made, not to Moira, not to Kevin, not even to Logan.

 _I feel a great swell of pity for the poor soul who comes to my school... looking for trouble._

"Yes," he whispered, opening his eyes, "Yes we will Kevin."

* * *

"So, success?"

Regan nodded and switched her earpiece off.

"Kestral said they managed to grab her in the middle of the gunfire," she said, "There was a bit of a problem with the telepath in the escape, but he managed to shake him."

A soft snort.

"I did tell him he might run into trouble. But, of course, all of Stryker's pawns get a little overconfident. One sniff of power, of the means to operate beyond their usual mien."

He snapped his fingers.

"And it's terribly easy for them to lose control. How did Zero do?"

"Sounds like he ran into some trouble too," Regan said, taking a seat, "Said there were a bunch of mutants who came out of nowhere, tried to stop them."

"Given what we know from Cairo, this makes sense. Which base did they take her to?"

"The one in Scotland. And they had to use a medic. Apparently Kestral's got some scars on his cheeks where she tried to claw his face open," said Regan, "Honestly, from her pictures, I didn't really expect that."

"Underestimating her was Stryker's mistake. It won't be ours."

"I thought you said his mistake was letting her go."

A chuckle.

"He made a lot of mistakes. But he had two of the greatest minds on mutants in his clutches a week ago. And what did he do? Pump them for information? Ask about their research? We have evidence to suggest McCoy might have changed his mutation. Did he even try to figure out how that was done?"

One of his hands made a sweeping motion in the air.

"No, he didn't. Because he has no vision. And he let go of a woman who had seen twenty years of classified information on mutants, more. She has copies of files long since destroyed in her mind."

"I get it, I get it," Regan said, "But I have no idea why you felt the need to have Martinique interrogate her instead of me."

Another chuckle.

"Goodness, you two really need to find some sort of balance, an accord. I can't have my two bodyguards fighting like this."

"Then why do you trust her with MacTaggert?" snapped Regan.

She was aware that her voice was becoming slightly whiny, but she couldn't help it. Her older sister was picked on almost all the important missions, and she never failed to lord it over Regan, making her feel small. She was just as smart as Martinique, as fast, as talented. They both had the same mutations.

So why was she the one who always got honored?

"I thought that was clear. You need to stay here with me."

"I don't need supervision," she said.

"No, not supervision. I don't need you doing missions almost any illusionist can do. Give Martinique a target and she'll run at it, shattering it upon impact. Ask her to think on her feet and she she'll be the one who shatters."

Regan smiled to herself. Well then.

"I'll be going to Scotland myself soon anyway, overseeing the preparations. They've been getting sloppy over there, and they might need some correction. And who knows? Perhaps MacTaggert shall cooperate."

"If Stryker's right about her and that telepath, then probably not," said Regan, "Do you think we should do something about that, by the way?"

There was a moment where she swore there wasn't any sound besides her own breathing. She knew better than to think she could hear him breathe. Sometimes Regan thought that he didn't, that it was only a show when he was around other people.

"Perhaps, if these mutants Zero and Kestrel encountered are truly his. If they took down Nur in Cairo, then we can't count them out of our equations. Not just yet. I would hate to damage McCoy's mind, or this Xavier's."

She laughed. He turned slightly.

"What is so amusing?"

Regan stopped.

"It may not always be apparent, but I am in this for a higher purpose. Talent like theirs is rare, truly. It would be a sin to wipe them from the world. Xavier might not be as smart as McCoy, or in the same way, but he is one with the most vision I've ever seen in an individual."

"He runs a school," said Regan.

"A school that has managed to endure when members of the Brotherhood forced into hiding or arrested. A school which has been churning out mutants confident and bold in who they are. He's been winning in his own way Regan, not something I think you can understand. Not yet."

He turned fully, moving to his desk.

"And it is his children who destroyed Nur, the strongest mutant I've ever heard of. No Regan, he doesn't just run a school. He never will just be someone who runs a school. The world may see the Brotherhood as the most powerful, but they don't understand."

He rubbed his chin, a pleased gesture.

"And I might have something he wants. Just that would warrant being a little more gentle with MacTaggert."

"How much?" asked Regan.

A thin smirk appeared on his lips.

"Not too gentle. Another reason to go. Martinique, like you, is talented in her abilities to convince our guests to see reason. But she can...perhaps be too zealous. We can't have MacTaggert too broken."

Regan shrugged and got up, brushing her hair away.

"So, are we headed out?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm afraid Kestral won't be transporting us this time. Stryker needs him back soon, and I think we can afford to take a plane while he concentrates his efforts on other matters. A little pain might convince MacTaggert to soften when we get there."

"You're going to let him go back?" asked Raven, "He's terribly valuable."

"Oh, I know. But Stryker will prove a valuable distraction. It's likely they'll think he did it."

"What did you tell him those two are being used for anyway?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"I forget. Martinique will fill them in. I don't think they'll talk, but we didn't get this far by trusting people to act in their best interest."

She opened the door. His secretary looked up, shuffling her papers.

"Your jet is waiting for you sir," she said.

"Oh come now," he said, laughing, jolly, "Five years working for me and I can't get a Nathaniel out of you."

His secretary sighed, and gave Regan a long-suffering look. Regan gave her a sympathetic expression in return. Stupid woman.

"I can always settle for Dr. Essex," she said.

"Good woman," he said, clapping her on the shoulder, "Wish me luck! The weather around Scotland can get a little choppy around this time of year, or so I hear."

"Have a pleasant journey."

He smiled and they continued down the hall. Regan drew level with him, making sure no one was around.

"How long do you think they'll focus on Stryker?" she asked.

"Long enough, I think," he replied, "We just have to be sure to keep MacTaggert quiet and shielded. Stryker might not be good for much, but those fences, goodness."

He shivered.

"It's been a long time since I've had such an opportunity, and such a challenge," he said, "We're placed very well, but we have so many other players in the game. Right now, we've got more pieces on the board but..."

He shrugged, with a glint in his eye she recognized as delight.

"They still have to make their move," he said.

"But we've planned for this," said Regan.

"Yes, yes we have," he agreed, "Which is, of course, what makes it so exciting."

With a smirk that turned into a grin, he flung open the door to the courtyard.

"If we play our cards right, we'll have all three of them."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Thank you to everyone who's been reading! This fic has been really intense to write, and, as some of you might have guessed, it's not over. Some of my long-term readers will know that I have a fondness for two things: very long end-of-story author's notes and trilogies. And that's the plan right now.  
_

 _Usually I wait two weeks in between my stories. However, all things considered, I've decided that the sequel to this, "Sinister," will premiere in five days. And yes, I do get the irony in having a character played by Rose Bryne act as mother to a child with supernatural abilities in a story titled that. However, when that briefcase closed in that clip after the movie, I kind of lost my mind. Essex Industries. Bryan Singer, you genius._

 _I've always loved Charles/Moira, and his shyness and utter desire to be with her in the movie really inspired me. Add the inclusion of Kevin, a child who will one day become a powerful mutant, and there's a powerful family dynamic there._

 _Not to say other people don't have their own issues to work through, and I'll continue to include that. I dislike having other characters be window dressing in stories, not just because it seems unrealistic, but also because X-men is, at its heart, an ensemble cast. Everyone influences each other, their own stories weaving together. Raven's back at the school, but I don't think she's home yet. She sees her own son every day but can't bring herself to talk to him._

 _I have to say that I was actually considering not writing any more fanfiction after my last story. My life had just gotten so busy, and my well of inspiration had run dry. As soon as Apocalypse came out though, I had people messaging me, and after I saw it, I couldn't stop myself. I've said it once and I'll say it again, thank you all for that nudge. This has been a great ride._

 _Thank you to all my readers, both those I could and couldn't respond to, depending on whether or not they had their private messaging turned on. This has been my most well-responded to fic I've ever written. Now, for my shoutouts: Coyote Blues, whose portrayal of Mystique never failed to inspire me, knightphoenix2, Courtenae727, savedbygrace94, BROSMP, Chocolate and Caramel Princess-Amon-Rae and Floralina Starling! See you all in five days!_


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